Liar Liar
by scarylolita
Summary: Kyle is in love with his stupid, straight best friend who will never love him back. Kenny, on the other hand, is still not over his ex's death. Now all they have is each other. With a long summer ahead of them comes a search for closure and an attempt to move on from the past. Slash.
1. A little violence

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey  
Lyrics to "Anywhere Is" © Enya**

**I'm making my rounds with murdering SP characters. I will kill everyone at some point. Kenny catches a break… this time. Hahahoho.**

* * *

_I walk the maze of moments  
But everywhere I turn to  
Begins a new beginning  
But never finds a finish  
I walk to the horizon  
And there I find another  
It all seems so surprising  
And then I find that I know_

Everything turned to shit this summer, but what's new? It's always been shit. I guess things just got a little worse. That's all.

Stan and Wendy broke up. _Again_. It still occurs, though not as much as it did when we were little. Every time it happens, he comes to me. We sleep together and he cries and then, no more than a week later, they get back together. He forgets all about me and we go back to normal. It sucks. It sucks being in love with someone who won't ever be able to love you back, but that doesn't stop me from feeling this way. I love Stan, my idiotic, oblivious and very straight best friend.

It'll happen again and I won't have it in me to tell him to stop because I want him so fucking badly I can't say no to him – even when I _know_ this is all I'll ever have. Still, part of me hopes otherwise and Kenny chides me for it, constantly saying I deserve better and constantly telling me I should move on. But I don't know how to move on. I don't know how to stop loving someone. Is it even possible?

Meanwhile, Cartman is up to the same old tricks. He's verbally abusing those around him, even though it's the last thing we all need. Especially after what just happened.

Craig Tucker… He surprised everyone when he ended his own life and he surprised everyone yet again with the cruel note he left behind.

_You never knew me  
so don't you fucking dare cry for me_

_CT_

It wasn't written to anyone specifically, but Kenny insisted that it was likely a letter to everyone Craig ever came in contact with. I didn't question him. He knew Craig best and it seemed like a very Craig thing to do. It broke Kenny's heart. I wish he never saw that stupid fucking letter. If he didn't see it, then he'd allow himself to grieve and he'd be able to move on. In many cases, there are five stages of grief and Kenny is still stuck in the first – denial.

Craig is selfish. Even after death he continues to hurt people. Craig was a bad boy and Kenny loved it. He's always had a thing for troublemakers. I told him that was fine as long as his _bad boy_ is a _good man_… but Craig was rotten inside and out. He never hesitated to let the darkest parts of his personality show. Either way, Kenny was drawn in and it was too late. Sweet, pure, naïve, innocent Kenny. He wouldn't listen no matter how many times we warned him it wasn't going to end well. He was in love. He's still in love. I think that's fucking sad.

After Craig died, Kenny dropped out of school and burned all his art because Craig was his muse. Instead, he started writing down his feelings. He says, "The paper is my mind and the ink is the experience. The words taint the paper the way I was tainted." He'll laugh and smile. "Life is beautiful, really it is. Life is so wonderful. I love life and life must love me back for giving me so much!" He sounds fucking crazy because he's trying so hard to put things into perspective and stop the pain. It never seems to work. Kenny always fucks himself over due to this desperate need to feel alive in the largest sense of the word. He wants every beautiful, ugly, raw fucking experience you can imagine. He lives on the edge and he likes it. He gets an idea – a dangerous idea – and he'll shake with anticipation just thinking about how it will all unfold.

That stopped after him and Craig became exclusive. I'm not sure whether or not it was a coincidence or if the two events were related, but Craig is gone now and Kenny is back to his self-destructive nature. Then again, maybe it never stopped. Maybe Craig helped Kenny destroy himself in other ways.

"What do you want in life?" I'll ask him.

"Everything," he'll say, practically screaming the words. "Everything and more!" And all his hopes and all his wishes are just leftover scraps of every good dream he's ever had and every memory he'll never get back. He misses Craig and tries not to dwell on the way things ended. I don't blame him.

I'm on my way to Kenny's house now. When he answers the door, he's smiling, but he looks tired. He's wearing plaid pajama pants and a t-shirt that is sliding off his slim shoulder. His bangs are pushed back in a hairband and there are dark circles around his eyes. I step inside and I don't call him out for pretending to be okay. We both know he's far from it. "How are you?" I ask him nonetheless.

"Fine and dandy," he sing-songs, nodding for me to follow him upstairs.

In his room, I decide to continue questioning him vaguely. "What did you do last night? Work?" Kenny works at a corner store – _a simple job for a simple guy_. Those are his words, not mine. Kenny is a lot of things, but simple isn't one of them. I think he says it to be ironic.

"It was my day off," he answers, flopping lifelessly onto his bed. "I stole my dad's car and went to a party. It was boring, so I left early."

"What happened then?" I ask, sitting next to where he's lying.

"I drove home, trying to ignore the urge to drive off the fucking bridge," he mutters, laughing bitterly.

"Don't do that," I say.

He lets out another callous laugh. "It wouldn't matter, though. Would it? I'd just come back."

"Save yourself a little bit of pain," I tell him.

"I feel like I need to be punished," he whispers meekly. "It's killing me not knowing what I did wrong."

"Maybe you didn't do anything," I offer sincerely. "Maybe Craig was just too fucked up to connect to the world around him?"

Kenny closes his eyes, exhaling slowly. "I want to go talk to his parents, but I'm afraid they won't want to talk to me. I'm afraid they'll blame me somehow…"

"Why would they do that?" I ask. Everyone likes Kenny. In fact, everyone _loves_ him. It's hard not to. He's an all-around sweet guy – one of the best you'll ever meet, even with the blatant insanity. He'd never hurt a fly. The only person he hurts is himself.

"I was there when it happened," he whispers. "I should've known something was wrong… but… but I didn't. He was being more affectionate than usual. I should've known something was off, but I didn't question it. I just remember thinking it was kind of nice until I realized what was going on. By then there was nothing I could do."

"Oh," I say quietly.

Kenny was the first one to realize Craig was dead. He doesn't talk about it much, so I don't really know how it happened. I'm sure it was traumatic, though. I can't really imagine what it would be like to find the person you love dead.

"Craig was always detached… but I feel like he got worse after we started dating," Kenny admits.

"Why?" I pry gently. I never knew that about Craig. I just thought he was a bit sour. I think his death shocked the entire town. There was a massive funeral and there's even a memorial in town hall. Craig's school picture is on a plaque, his name engraved in fucking gold letters. He looks fucking miserable in the picture. I don't know why they didn't use one of him smiling... but then again, maybe there weren't any. A few days after his burial, the mayor made a speech about suicide awareness. Everyone's eyes are opened now.

"He loved so intensely… it was like he was trying to consume me," Kenny murmurs, laughing slightly. "It was scary sometimes. I feel like if I let him, he would have swallowed me whole. I think I _would've_ let him… It was like he put every feeling he had into his relationship with me instead of sharing his emotions evenly with everything around him."

"Sounds like a selfish kind of love," I say.

"Oh, it was," Kenny agrees. "It was the most selfish kind of love."

"If it's selfish, was it true?" I muse aloud.

"I'd like to think so," he says, "but there are some things even I don't know the answer to. For now, I'll just believe it was real. I'll just believe that, in his own sick and twisted way, he loved me and all the shit he did was because he wanted me so badly."

"If he ever hurt you –" I start to ask, but Kenny cuts me off.

"He didn't," he promises surely. "He could be sincere… He never had his license, you know. I once asked him if he ever planned on getting it. He said no because he was scared he would run over animals on the highway." Kenny smiles almost fondly, only to falter a second later. "Fuck…" his voice breaks. "I love him so much…"

"Then why did he…?" I trail off, not wanting to say it out loud.

"He was sick," Kenny says simply. "Sometimes sick people don't get better. I always had a feeling that might've been true, but now I know for sure."

"Oh," I say softly, understanding what he means by that. Craig wasn't sick in body – he was sick in mind and sometimes that's worse.

* * *

Stan comes over late in the night. Since he has a key to my house, I find him lying in my bed when I return from Kenny's. "Hey," he greets me, sitting up as I enter.

"Hey," I echo, taking my sweater off and hanging it on my desk chair.

"Come here," he requests softly, holding out a hand.

I don't waste time. I toss my keys onto my desk and move forward. "What is it?" I ask, though I know exactly where this is heading. I have no complaints.

He takes my hands and pulls me down on top of him as he lies on his back. He doesn't bother answering me. Instead, he locks his hands around my neck and presses his lips to mine. I feel beneath his shirt, resting my palms against the plane of his flat stomach. "Fuck me," he whispers once we part and I don't hesitate to start taking his clothes off.

It always happens like this. I find Stan vulnerable and though I know he is hurting, I can't find it in myself to push him away. Should I? I want this more than anything and if I can't have Stan's love, I'll take this instead. Christ, I sound pathetic. I guess I kind of am.

The first time Stan made the demand, I was taken aback. We were drunk, having stolen some of my parents' expensive whisky. In our intoxicated state, Stan was bold enough to ask for a distraction and I was bold enough to accept it. My heart sped up when he got the words out. I was already head over heels for him at that point and maybe he knew. It was an unceremonious question. "Hey, Kyle... Wanna have sex with me?" That's it. We were fourteen. We're eighteen now and we're still making these stupid mistakes. We never mention it once it's over. When it's over we just act like it never happened… but sometimes I feel like we shouldn't keep pretending. Sometimes I feel like I should look him in the eye and tell him I'm in love with him… but no. Things would never be the same if I did that. He wouldn't come to me anymore. Would he stop or would be find someone else to fuck? I don't know. I don't want to think about it. I don't want him in the arms of a stranger.

I shake the thoughts away, trying not to think about yesterday or tomorrow. I'll just think about this very second and I'll just think about how in a few minutes I'm going to have Stan writhing beneath me.

I roll on a condom as he pours lube on his fingers. He gets on his knees, ass in the air as he fingers himself. I can feel my dick twitching. It's been a while since I fucked him. "You're lucky my parents are gone away," I murmur.

He lets out a dry laugh, digging his fingers in deeper. His breath hitches and he lets out a quiet moan, spreading his legs further apart. I can't help but wonder if this is the kind of sex he has with Wendy because he seems so used to it. There has always been a practised ease in his movements and I doubt it's from me. I noticed it the first time we slept together and fuck, it makes me jealous. He's so beautiful and I want him all to myself but it won't ever happen.

Soon he removes his fingers, wiping the sticky residue on his thigh before pointing his rear in my direction. I guess I'm lucky to even get this much of a taste.

I settle behind him and position myself against his ass before slowly pushing forward. I stare down at his back, at the curve of his spine, at his shoulders. We always do it like this. He never lets me look at him. I guess he wants to create a disconnect between us. Maybe he wants to pretend I'm pretty Wendy with a strap on instead of a gangly redhead with a real dick. I don't know.

"Harder…!" he shouts at me. I grab him by the hips and wordlessly comply as he shoves his face into a pillow, muffling his moans.

I guess he likes it rough.

Or maybe he just wants it to hurt.

* * *

As soon as we finish, he sits up and stares at me. His eyes are dull and glassy and his nose is red. "You need to wash the sheets," is all he says.

"That's fine," I tell him gently, ripping the condom off and disposing of it.

He starts weeping a moment later. He covers his mouth with the back of his hand in an attempt to stifle his sobs, but it doesn't do any good. He shudders, stomach tightening and shoulders trembling. I let out a silent sigh and sit back on the mattress, throwing my arms around him. I pull him close and he tightens his grip on me before saying, "I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"

The words surprise me. He's never said them before at a time like this. "It's fine," I whisper.

He continues to sob, saying nothing more after that. I keep holding him until he's all cried out, then we go to sleep. Come morning, he'll be gone. He always is.

* * *

Around 6AM, I wake up to the sound of shuffling. I open my eyes and see Stan throwing his clothes back on. I don't say anything. I simply watch him until he's gone, then I close my eyes again.

Stan's relationship with Wendy is like a soap opera. When they're good, they're good… but when they're bad, it's like nothing I've ever seen outside of _General Hospital_ or some shit. It's serious melodrama… but I guess everyone has some of that in their life. I'm no different. My family situation is pretty fucked up. It's nothing compared to Kenny's, but still. Everyone who has ever met my mother will understand what I mean.

Whatever. I can't let it bother me. At least she's not as bad as Randy. Randy doesn't love his son. The alcoholic asshole actually admitted to it. Maybe that's part of why Stan is so fucked up and so needy. At least the McCormicks love their children.

* * *

I have a few too many drinks the following night and go to Stan's house. Since I'm drunk, I'm overly emotional. This is how it goes. I stifle myself on most days, but when I drink it all comes pouring out of my eyes and fists and mouth.

"What's up?" he asks me as we walk up to his room. He doesn't notice that I'm drunk. "Wendy is coming over in a bit… to talk, but you can stick around if you don't mind the drama that will likely ensue."

Wendy, Wendy, Wendy.

Stan's parents are gone out and Shelly isn't home so, in my stupor, I confront him with the use of very few words when we're standing in his room. It sounds stupid and pathetic and it's no excuse, but my body just moves on its own and before I can even think to stop myself my fist is in his face.

He lets out a gasp and falls backwards. "What the _fuck_?" he shouts, staring up at me with a hurt expression. "What the fuck was that for?" He begins to stand, but I push him back down. "Stop that!" he demands.

I don't. I grab the front of his shirt and kneel down, staring right into his eyes. I'm scaring him. His eyes are wet. He'll start crying any minute. He cries a lot. Then again, so do I. He's always been incredibly sensitive, but I've never been the one to make him cry before. He'll have a bruise. I've never done that before, either. I guess tonight is full of firsts.

"Stop…" he whispers, staring back at me. I part my lips, but before I can respond, his bedroom door opens and Wendy is standing there with fucking Eric Cartman behind her. Of all people! He's going to have a god damn field berating me over this. But at the same time, I really deserve it. I deserve to hear everything he's going to say.

"Get away from him, you animal!" Wendy screams at me accusingly. As she's about to move forward, Cartman puts a hand on her shoulder to stop her. In her stead, he pries me off of her (ex?) boyfriend and drags me out of the room to cool down.

"Kahl, Kahl, Kahl," Cartman says my name, berating me. "Tut, tut… What did you do?"

I let out a loud, angry groan, smacking myself on the head. "I'm such a fucking _idiot_," I seethe, leaning against the hallway wall. I can hear Stan letting out these shrieking sobs and the sound goes straight to my heart. "Fuck, I'm the worst."

"True," the fatass agrees gladly. "I never took you for the violent type. It doesn't suit you."

I sneer at him. I'd like to deny it and tell him I'm not violent, but I can't. This isn't the first time I got drunk and swung my fists. It's just the first time I showed this side of myself to someone I care about. I guess this makes me trash with a lack of self-control. "Why are you here, anyway?" I ask, glancing at him.

"I was walking home from Kinny's house," he explains. "Damn hoodrat's hella boring lately. Anyway, I saw Wendy on my way and decided I'd tag along for the drama. I didn't expect you to be causing it, but I'm definitely not disappointed."

"Asshole," I murmur, letting out a sigh. "Tell Stan I went home… if he cares to ask."

"Right," Cartman agrees.

I leave the Marsh house and make my way home, stumbling down the road. Stan and Wendy are probably hugging it out now. There's no way she'll yell at him after what I just did. I probably helped them smooth things over a lot faster than they would have if I didn't decide to punch him. God, I'm such a fucking loser.

* * *

Around midnight, I get a phone call from none other than Wendy. I sort of expected this. Fortunately, I've sobered up a bit… Hopefully I won't say anything stupid.

"_Stan told me what you two have been up to_," she starts, sighing audibly. "_Look, I know he was the one to start it, but don't touch him ever again. After what you did… you have no right. I don't know about Stan, but I have no tolerance for abuse. He's my boyfriend and that means I want to protect him_."

So, they're back together.

"Then stop breaking up with him every five minutes," I tell her tartly. I'm exaggerating. They don't break up quite that often, but they do it at least once a year… sometimes twice.

"_Our relationship isn't your business, Kyle_," she says calmly.

I know she's right, but I'm so fucking jealous I can't even think straight. "I'm his best friend."

"_If he even considers you that after tonight_," she says with blatant disgust. "_If you didn't want to sleep with him all you had to do was tell him. You made him cry, you know.._._ and he just blames himself. He thinks he pressured you into something you didn't want._"

I laugh into the receiver. "You have it wrong, Wendy. I wasn't mad because I _didn't_ want to sleep with him. I was mad because I _did_ and he was using me and I was using him and the entire situation was fucked up because I'm in _love_ with him."

There's a pause.

A sigh.

And then, "_Oh_."

"So, now you know," I murmur.

"_I won't tell him_," she responds cautiously, "_but you should. It's not fair of you to keep this a secret. He deserves to know what your intentions were each time you touched him like that_."

I let out a callous laugh. "No. I haven't told him because I'm trying to do the right thing. I want him to be happy and he's straight and he's in love with you, not me. Telling him I love him would only fuck things up. He'd see me differently and he'd probably put some of the blame on himself. He'll feel like he unknowingly lead me on… but I've felt this way for as long as I can remember."

"_You need to be honest_, _Kyle_," Wendy says impatiently. "_You owe him a reason for why you hurt him today_."

"I know," I murmur. "I'll think of something."

"_Don't lie_," she warns.

"Yeah," is all I say.

I hang up on her after that. I'll go see Stan tomorrow. I'll tell him I'm sorry. Maybe I'll shed a few tears. Probably.


	2. All about Craig Tucker

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey  
Lyrics to "Anywhere Is" © Enya**

**A guy with a rifle was caught 10 minutes away from where I live this morning :( Half the town is on lockdown.**

* * *

_The moon upon the ocean  
Is swept around in motion  
But without ever knowing  
The reason for its flowing  
In motion on the ocean  
The moon still keeps on moving  
The waves still keep on waving  
And I still keep on going_

The following day, Stan is at my house before I'm even out of bed. There's a bruise on his face and it's all thanks to me. I sit up and when I'm about to puke out an apology, he cuts me off. "I'm embarrassed," he murmurs, laughing sheepishly. "I'm sorry I kept, like, uh, coaxing you into sleeping with me… That's kind of rapey of me, isn't it?"

"You did no such thing," I swear. I guess now is the time to be honest. I don't want him to ever think things like that. "Truth is, I liked it. Part of me looked forward to you breaking up with Wendy because I'm a horny faggot who wouldn't put your feelings first." Fuck it. I'm sober and Wendy is right. He deserves to know how I feel.

"What?" he asks stupidly.

"I love you," I tell him.

"I love you, too…" he returns. "Even now."

I can't even find it in me to be impatient because this is part of why I love him so fucking much. There's something so naïve about him – like Kenny in a way. He's so small and childish. It makes you want to protect him. Wendy is right about that, too… but I guess I'm not the one who is going to be protecting him. She is.

"No," I smile somewhat bitterly. "The love I feel for you… is the kind where I want to take you out on dates, be your boyfriend… marry you and maybe adopt a fuckin' kid. I've loved you like this since we were children and I know the last thing you probably need is a confession like this, but you deserve to know so I'm letting it all out."

I'm starting to get emotional because I know what this means. It means change. Even if he insists things will be the same, I know they won't. They can't.

Stan doesn't look surprised. His face is blank and maybe somewhat pensive. "I see," he says after a short pause.

"You don't need to say anything," I tell him. "I'm sorry I hit you. That was shitty of me. I guess I just got sick of keeping it all inside so it came out in other ways… y'know?"

"Yeah," Stan says quietly. "Look, this doesn't have to change anything." Called it. "You're still my best friend. Am I yours?"

"Yeah," I tell him. "Always."

And it goes without saying that I won't be fucking him anymore. It's for the best, really. We were both playing with fire.

He takes a seat on my bed and stares at me. "Part of me always wondered… if maybe you felt something for me," he admits quietly. "I guess that's why I was always so forward. I mean… I knew you were gay, but I felt like it was a vain thought. I didn't want to be the kind of guy who assumes that just because someone is gay they're into me, you know?"

I told him when we were twelve, but it was never really a secret. I've always been the gay jock on the basketball team. But school is out and there's no room for schoolyard stereotypes in the real world.

"Yeah," I say quietly. I reach forward and put a hand on his cheek, brushing my thumb across the bruise. "I'm really fucking sorry," I choke out.

He smiles a small smile. "It's okay, Kyle," he insists. He wraps his arms around my shoulder and pulls me towards him. I know I'm crying like a big, dumb baby but it hurts. It hurts to be rejected.

I rest my forehead on his shoulder and stay quiet. I'm not about to start sobbing like a fuckin' idiot. I don't want Stan to feel bad about this.

A minute later, I raise my head and wipe my eyes. "Sorry," I murmur again, offering him an incredibly forced smile.

"It's okay, dude," he says. "What are you going to do today? Want me to stick around?"

"You don't have to," I tell him. "Go spend time with Wendy. You guys probably need it, huh? I'll go visit Kenny or something."

Stan nods thoughtfully before softening. "About Wendy… It's always my fault when we break up. I always get crazy and she breaks things off to teach me a lesson. She deals with a lot of my shit. So do you. I'm moody and a bit cynical. I demand a lot. I'm a bit high maintenance… So, thanks for sticking around."

I let out a chuckle. "You make yourself seem worse than you are. You're not that bad. A bit moody, yeah, and definitely cynical, but you're nice to be around."

"What can I do to give you closure?" he asks.

"Probably nothing," I admit. "I'll need to… just try to fall out of love, I guess."

"I want you to be happy…" he says sadly.

"I'm not _unhappy_," I tell him. "I mean, it sucks, yeah, but one's first love is often not their last. I'm sure I'll fall in love again someday."

"I hope so," Stan says with sincerity.

"Me, too."

* * *

Stan doesn't stick around much longer after that. He heads out – probably to go see Wendy. I decide to roll out of bed and shower. My hair is always a chore to wash. Sometimes I think I should chop my damn afro off, but I know I'd regret it immediately. Bald doesn't suit me. I've taken enough of Cartman's farts to have had at least that much sink in.

After washing up, I step out of the shower and dry off, wiping the condensation off the mirror. I stare at myself. I think I'm the stupidest looking kid in the world, but I'm not insecure about it aymore. I've got the big-ass nose, the big-ass hair, I'm too tall and pretty slender, but I've got muscle gained from years of organized sports. At least I don't have freckles. Kenny has freckles and he hates them. I think they look sweet on him, but Cartman likes to poke fun.

Kenny is pretty good looking. He's probably one of the best looking guys in town. He's tanned and blond – not tall, but not short either. Stan is really short. He stopped growing before the rest of us. Even Wendy has an inch on him, but he doesn't seem to mind. It's no secret that Wendy is the dominant partner. I guess that works for them.

I always preached this body acceptance crap, but as a kid I was a wary when it came to my own looks. Even Cartman had more self-confidence than I did and he's fat as a whale. That hasn't changed. Where does he get it? Hell if I know. But good for him, I guess.

I wrap my towel around my waist and cross the hall into my bedroom. I throw a pair of shorts on and some jeans along with a t-shirt. I pocket my cellphone and grab my keys before strolling out the door.

I just got a car. I've been saving for it on and off since I was sixteen. A part time job at a book store doesn't make you much money. The car is kind of shitty looking, but it works and it's good on gas. I had to give it a pretty wicked clean when I bought it. It smelled like somethin' and it wasn't sweet, let me tell you.

I park on the side of the road and knock on the door before letting myself in. Karen is in the living room. I wave to her before walking upstairs.

Kenny is lying on his mattress with his laptop. When he sees my hovering in his doorway he sits up and sets it aside, closing it. "Hey…" he greets slowly.

"Hey," I return, taking a step inside.

"Are you… okay?" he asks me somewhat cautiously.

I let out a sigh. "Who told you?" I murmur the question.

"Eric called me," Kenny admits. "He said you went on a bit of a bender and got violent."

I let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, there's one way to put it… I'm surprised Stan doesn't hate me now. I never imagined I'd say a thing like this, but fuck, I'm glad Cartman was there. If not, I don't know how far I would've gone."

Kenny shrugs. "I think… the two of us need to get our shit together. We need to try and move on, right?"

"Right," I agree quietly, flopping onto his mattress. Out of the blue, Kenny stands up. When I think he's trying to distance himself from me, he starts removing his clothes and ignoring the strange look I'm giving him. "Stop…" I say as I perch myself up on my elbows, but he doesn't stop. Soon, every inch of his tanned skin is carelessly revealed. He crawls back onto the mattress and sits on my midsection. "What are you doing?" I ask flatly, staring up at him.

"We're going to fuck," he says bluntly.

Kenny is cute – I mean he's _really_ cute. He's the kind of cute that makes you want to say 'aw' out loud… Since I'm horny and gay I wanna shout _hell yeah_ and get my dick out… but I don't. Instead, I stupidly ask, "What?"

He lets out a soft sigh. "You're angry and upset, so let it out."

"On _what_?" I urge warily.

"On _me_," he says, placing a hand on his chest. "I can handle it."

I sit up and he falls onto my lap. "No!" I exclaim, grabbing his shoulders. "I don't know if this is how you did things with Craig, but I'm _not_ that kind of guy."

He gives me a strange look, as if he doesn't quite understand. "Yes, you are," he says surely. "Isn't this what you do with Stan? He uses you and you use him?"

I bite my lip. "It wasn't like that," I murmur. But maybe, in a way, it kind of was? Shit, I don't want to think of it like that. I give Kenny a sympathetic smile, cupping his face and moving my thumbs across his cheeks. "You're too altruistic, you know."

"I know," he admits with a sad laugh. "That's what everyone says."

"I don't want to hurt you," I tell him.

"You won't," Kenny says surely. He wraps his arms around my neck and presses his face into the crook of my neck. "Let's just do it, Kyle."

"I don't want to use you, either," I murmur.

"I don't mind," he promises.

I feel his breath against my skin and I can't help but shiver at the potential of it all. Nonetheless, I say, "I do…"

"Then try not to see it like that," he says, drawing away and staring at me.

I look into his blue eyes and ask, "Then how am I supposed to see it?"

"We're two friends blowing off steam," he says simply, slipping a hand beneath the rim of my sweatpants. "I don't think there's anything wrong with that. Do you?"

"No," I mumble slowly.

He leans forward so our noses touch then he tilts his head and presses his lips to mine. Two point five seconds later, it's boner city in my pants. He's a good kisser. I should've known. He's experienced – even more so than I am. When he draws away he looks at me and promises, "I want to do this."

"Can I ask why?" I wonder.

"I want to do it with someone I care about," he says.

"Oh," is all I muster up and I can't help but wonder if he's let anyone touch him since Craig offed himself, but I can't bring myself to ask.

He moves away a moment later and grabs lube and a condom – safety first. I roll it on and he lies on his back, touching himself lewdly. For a few minutes, I just watch him. It was like this with Stan, but at the same time, it wasn't. He never let me look at him – not really. Kenny, on the other hand, doesn't seem to mind my eyes on him.

I ease my way in slowly, not wanting to hurt him. "More…" he murmurs, reaching up and wrapping his arms around my neck, keeping my close.

Apart from Stan, I haven't slept with another person since I was seventeen. I lost my virginity to Stan three years before that. I was naïve and inexperienced. I hardly knew where to put what, pathetic as it sounds. Stan had to show me what to do. Now is different. I like to think that I'm at least _all right_ in bed. I've never had any complaints. In high school everyone slept around. I was no different.

Still, I've never dated. I've never had a boyfriend and the only girlfriends I've had were Bebe Stevens and Rebecca Cotswolds. Those relationships lasted all of five minutes. I guess I've always been too infatuated with Stan to pay attention to anyone else. I wonder if that will change at all. I hope it does. I don't want to keep fawning over someone who will never return my feelings. It's not Stan's fault, really. It's no one's fault. I can't help the way I feel and neither can Stan.

But I shouldn't be thinking of him right now. It's not right. I shake the thoughts away and stare down at Kenny, who is staring up at me. Yeah… this is a lot different than it was with Stan.

It doesn't take either of us long. Afterward, we just lie together side by side. For a while, neither of us talk.

"That was nice," Kenny decides to break the silence first.

"Yeah," I agree.

He pulls the sheets up over himself and gets comfortable. "I'm going to take a nap," he says. "You can go clean up, but don't go, okay?"

"I won't," I promise him. I'm not that kind of guy. I've had it happen to myself enough times to realize how shitty it feels.

I stare up at the ceiling and soon, his breathing evens out. I sit up and try to find something to entertain myself with – maybe Kenny's old PSP, but I can't find it.

I leaf through some crap on his floor and pick up a coiled scribbler, opening it because I'm a nosy bastard. It's Kenny's writing – messy and crooked.

_I feel stupid for writing all these little things down. They're the things I never got to tell you. They're the things I wish you could've heard before leaving._

_I'll close my eyes and my life will flash before my eyes. Funny, that is. I'm not even about to die. _

_We're eight years old and I hate you and you hate me and neither of us care enough to do a damn thing about it. Were ten years old and some of that hatred has begun to melt away because you're growing up faster than I am and no longer holding grudges. We're twelve years old and I start a fight, getting up in your face but you just laugh at me and it becomes my favorite sound. We're fourteen years old and I'm the only one you'll laugh with and it makes me feel a little special. We're sixteen years old and all we want to do is fuck so we do and the fast-paced anatomical collision has me falling harder than ever. You're eighteen and I'm still seventeen and we're the only thing in the world that matters. I'm eighteen and you're gone. Nothing else hurts quite like this. You weren't good or pure. At least, that's what my friends said. But they didn't see you the way I saw you. They didn't see the beautiful little pieces. Clearly that wasn't enough. It's never enough. Nothing is ever enough. _

_To me, it didn't matter that you weren't good and you weren't pure. Eric would joke around about it and say I was good and pure enough for the both of us. Maybe he was right. I never minded that you were mean. You were always good to me and when you weren't you made up for it. It kills me, you know. I feel like we would've been great for a damn long time. I still have all these things I want to say. I have all these questions I wish I asked sooner because now it's too late. Too fucking late. I used to think we'd have a lifetime. _

_Every time I see my body I can't help but think of the things we did when we were together. I don't want to keep seeing you when I see myself. I thought maybe I'd be all right if I touched someone else and you know what? It kind of did help. So last night I let a man twice my age fuck me. He whispered dirty things in my ear. It was a hit-and-run kind of fuck. We moved fast, we came hard and then there was nothing at all. How beautiful. How disgusting. I went home. I threw up. I went to bed. I fell asleep and I remembered that I was the last thing you saw. It made me feel a tiny bit better and a tiny bit worse. Still, I'm glad it was me. Are you glad it was me? I can't help but wonder. _

"Jesus Christ," I whisper once I'm done reading the first entry. I guess this is why Kenny wanted to have sex with me.

"Yeah," I hear Kenny say and it startles me.

"Shit," I murmur, putting the coiled scribbler down. "Sorry…"

"It's okay," he says. "I don't mind if you read it, Kyle. You're the only person who doesn't tip toe around me. All you had to do was ask."

"I'm sorry," I apologize again.

"I've been writing down my feelings… things I wish I could say to him," he murmurs.

"You should go visit Craig's family," I mention tentatively. "I think it would be a good idea."

"Want to come with me?" he asks.

"Sure," I say, though I know I'll feel out of place in his home. I'll do it for Kenny.

"We'll go… soon…" he murmurs. "When I'm ready, we'll go."

I offer him a smile and say, "Fair enough."

I stay with him until early evening strikes. Then I head to work and he does the same.

* * *

On the weekend, Stan calls me to tell me that he's going away for the summer. "Where?" I sputter.

"_Dubai_," he says.

"Why the fuck are you going there?" I ask, trying to hide my outrage.

"_You know Wendy's mom is Middle Eastern_," Stan explains. "_Her grandparents live there, so she's going to visit and explore her roots a bit. She invited me to come along. I think it'll be good for us_."

"What about the language barrier?" I ask.

"_Wendy speaks Arabic_," Stan reminds me. "_I won't be leaving her side_."

"Be safe," I murmur. "When do you leave?"

"_Thursday_."

"Shit, that's soon…"

"_I'll miss you_," he says almost shyly.

I knew my confession would change things, even though he insisted otherwise. He probably feels awkward and hesitant to say things like that. Nonetheless, I say, "I'll miss you, too."

* * *

The following day, I drive Kenny to the Tucker residence. Craig's parents don't look upset to see Kenny at the door. Instead, they look relieved. Mrs. Tucker smiles wearily at Kenny before welcoming us both inside. "We were wondering when you'd show up," she says.

"I was afraid to," Kenny admits meekly.

"Why?" she asks with a frown.

"Because… because I thought maybe you blamed me," he says, sounding small. "I thought… maybe it would've been justified."

"No, sweetie," she chokes out, reaching forward and wrapping her arms around Kenny. He hugs her back and for a while, they don't separate. It's like they're both trying to comfort one another without the use of words. "Thomas doesn't blame you either," she promises once they part. "Craig loved you. We love you."

"Okay," Kenny relents quietly, but there's relief evident in his tone.

"So, thank you," she says in an anguished tone.

"What for?" Kenny asks weakly.

"For loving our son," she whispers. Thomas is silent and solemn looking. He doesn't move to hug Kenny, so being the angel he is, Kenny moves to hug him instead. Thomas wraps his arms around Kenny and his face looks pained – like he's touching something his son left behind. In a way, he is. Craig left Kenny behind.

When they part, Craig's mom continues to talk and everyone's eyes are glassy. "We haven't touched his things," she says softly. "Everything… We've left everything as it was. Thomas can't bear to go inside and I…" she trails off and closes her eyes. "You can go up there if you want."

Kenny nods, curling his fingers around my wrist and dragging me along without a word.

Craig's room is pretty typical. The curtains are blue and the bed sheets are blue. The furniture is simple, dark wood. The carpet is beige, just like the walls. It's simple. It's boring. There's a bed in the center of the room against the wall and next to it is a nightstand. There's a desk in the far right and a tall lamp in the far left. Mirroring the bed is a bureau and all that's sitting on it is a roll of deodorant.

Kenny moves to the opposite side of the room and opens the curtains, letting in the light. "I'm sorry," he says aloud. "I wish I had it in me to come here and say goodbye, but I don't. I'm still hung up on _goodnight_. That's the last thing you said to me… so I closed my eyes thinking I'd wake up to hear you say good morning… but I didn't."

He's not speaking to me. He's speaking to Craig. I stay silent, sitting down on the edge of Craig's unmade bed and listening to Kenny talk. It's kind of heartbreaking to hear. Kenny's voice starts to waver, but he won't cry. He won't cry because Craig told him he wasn't allowed to.

I feel my throat constrict. I'm so bad at dealing with death, even when it's the death of someone I was never close with. I can't handle seeing people grieve. I let out a shaky breath, trying hard to keep silent.

"For two days you acted strange," Kenny continues. "You took me out and you walked me home. I told you I'd see you tomorrow. You kissed me and you smiled and said goodnight. I thought it was strange, but I shook it off. You weren't one for smiles. The next day…" He lets out a shuddery breath, pausing and closing his eyes before he continues. "I spent the day and night with you. I was lazing around in your room while you showered. When you came back you were ready for bed. So, you said goodnight again and we both went to sleep. I wrapped my arms around you and you didn't complain about feeling too warm. I was glad… so glad that I never noticed your heart stopped beating."

That last sentence hits me really hard and I need to choke back a sob. Fuck. I swallow harshly as I listen to him talk. He's not crying, but I am. I bring a hand to cover my mouth and I stifle any sounds that want to escape. I take a deep, slow breath and let it out. I turn away before Kenny can see and I start wiping my eyes. I want to stay strong for him, but I'm such a pussy.

"In the morning I tried to wake you up," Kenny whispers. "But you wouldn't wake up and that's when I knew. I started screaming. Your parents came in. They started screaming. Ruby came in. She started screaming. They were all crying, but I was too shocked. Then there was that fucking letter… just sitting there in plain sight on your desk…" He stops, opening his eyes and letting out a shuddery breath. "Fuck…" he states with finality.

"Are you okay?" I ask cautiously after a moment's pause. Stupid question, I guess.

Kenny stares at me with a blank expression. "Kyle, help me… help me find something to take," he requests in a strange, soft voice. "I want to take something back home… something of his."

I want to ask him if it's really healthy, but I won't. I'll let him cope the way he deems fit. Maybe it's okay if he does this. Maybe he just needs to learn to let go. Maybe keeping a piece of Craig close to him well help him move on. So, I nod and I begin rummaging through Craig's room with Kenny.

It feels strange being here and even stranger doing this – looking through the belongings of a dead person I once knew. It's a bit macabre.

Craig doesn't have that many things. His room is plain. He has a desk, a chair… a bed, a nightstand, a bureau. Things like that. I open the nightstand and peer inside. There's some drug paraphernalia and pornography, but I don't exactly want Kenny to take any of that shit so I close the drawer. I leaf through the papers on his desk, most of which are old school assignments. Craig wasn't a good student, by the looks of things. He had a lot of F's and his best marks seem to be C's. I guess he doesn't really need to worry about that anymore, though…

In his desk drawer, there are pens and pencils and more papers. I leaf around them, pausing when I see a simple sheet of loose leaf with Kenny's name written on it. "Hey…" I murmur. "Ken, look." I raise the piece of paper and he makes a strange face, holding out his hand. I give it to him and watch as he reads it over. His expression changes, his lower lip trembles, his eyes grow wet and his brows tense.

The moment feels incredibly long and I can tell it's something bad.

"No, no, no, no, no…" Kenny repeats frantically before starting to sob loudly. The paper falls from his hands and falls like a feather to the carpet as he covers his mouth in his hands.

His reaction scares the hell out of me. I stare down at the paper where it lies on the floor. It's a big messy block of text. I don't know if I have the right to read it, but I do –

_Kenny_

_Where do I start? Everything I felt for you can't just be summed up. It can't all be put to words. It transcends. It can't be explained by something as simple as language, but I can try. For the first time in my life I can make an effort to do something, to get a point across. It's the least I can do. It's the last thing I'll do. So here we go. The first time I looked into your eyes I saw myself. It wasn't just the familiar blue color, it was everything. It was the look you wore. You are self-destructive. You are a bomb. You are fucking crazy. So was I. We were crazy together. Sometimes I liked to imagine you maybe saw a piece of yourself in me as well, but I could never find it in me to ask. I think if I did, the words would come out sounding like a demand just like every other damn thing I said. We fucked wildly, we did stupid things and I loved every damn second of it – of us. I loved you too much and I guess that wasn't healthy and there were times I did things wrong. I tried not to hurt you but sometimes I did. I said things. You always forgave me. Sometimes it pissed me off. Sometimes I wish you'd scream in my face, but you never did. You'd give me a smile – a brilliant fuckin' smile as wide as the open road and you'd tell me everything was fine. You always reassured me. I never thought that was something I needed, but you knew me best. You made me feel better. You calmed me down. I felt like I'd never be normal. With or without you, I'd never be normal. The pills took away so much, but you stayed. I never thanked you for it, so I'll do that now before I go: thank you. I stopped caring about the things I knew I should've cared about. I stopped caring about things I used to feel passionately about. You're the only thing I never stopped caring about. I was dependent on you. I wanted to be inside of you and I wanted you to be inside of me. Forever. I wanted all of you, even the parts I couldn't touch with my hands. I wanted to force every single inch of my inner and outer being into yours. I wanted to cut open your body and sew myself to you so we'd never be apart. I wanted to create a hole in your mind and bathe in every single one of your fucking thoughts and emotions. That scared me. These fucked up thoughts scared me, but they weren't just thoughts. They were dreams. Maybe this isn't suicide because the pills killed me before I actually had the chance to do it on my own. I'd look at myself in the mirror and I wouldn't see that spark I'd see in your eyes. Mine were just dead – like my insides. I wouldn't see myself in you. I guess that's why I grew so obsessed. That's why I'd fuck you so hard. Maybe I was trying to grab some of that spark. Maybe I felt like you were slipping away when in reality I was the one slipping. I slipped further and further and further and then I was gone. Stupid of me. No, crazy of me. It's true what people said when they said I wasn't all there in the head because I guess I wasn't. I was fucked in every sense of the word. Funny, life is. I hated most of it. You were the only good thing. I'm not afraid to die twice, really. You're the only thing I'll miss. Wherever I end up, I'll miss you, but I'm doing this for us. Both of us. And maybe that's fucking crazy of me and maybe you won't understand, but it needs to be this way. You don't need me as much as I needed you. I lived and died for you more than I did myself. I don't think I ever knew myself at all, you know. But that's all right because you knew me. I hope you find this letter somehow. If not, at least I got the words out. I feel better now. No more regrets. I'm just happy knowing I'll be able to die in your arms. _

_Yours,_

_Craig_

_PS: I'm sorry. I loved you. I'm sorry._

The entire letter is written in past tense – as if Craig had already died when he wrote the letter. Then again, in his own words, he was long dead. There are a few words at the bottom of the page that are smudged and I can only assume Craig was crying when he was finishing the letter. He lived a lonely life, but he didn't want to die alone. He swallowed all his medication and he went to sleep in Kenny's arms and he never woke up. It's sad, really. It's too sad to think about. It makes my stomach tighten and it makes my chest hurt.

I stare down at Kenny who is still sobbing loudly on the floor. I kneel down next to him and pull him into my chest. I wonder if this will make him feel better or worse. Sometimes the truth hurts more than not knowing, but it's for the best.

"_You never knew me so don't you dare cry for me_…" Kenny quotes wetly. "That first letter…It wasn't addressed to me… or his mom and dad… or his sister or his friends… He wrote that letter to himself."

I don't know what the fuck to say to that, so I don't say anything. I just rub a hand down Kenny's back and through his hair. He's shaking pretty badly. I want to ease his pain somehow, but there's literally nothing in the world I can say or do. I think it will get better from here, though. At least now he knows and now he won't have to keep asking himself questions.

"He never cried for himself, you know…" Kenny continues, sniffling. "No matter how shitty his life got, he never cried. I guess I get why now. I don't think he even realized how lonely he was, even with me."

"It sounds like he was dissociated," I murmur. "He cried writing that letter, though."

Kenny sighs. "Probably not for himself…"

"Oh," I say quietly.

Kenny wraps his arms around me, tightening his grip. "I only saw him cry once," he whispers. "I got hit by a car and he went crazy… I died but then I came back and he forgot. Everything was okay again. He cried for me. Usually I feel bitter from death, but he cried for me and it made me feel better. He cried for me when he's never cried for anything else. I knew then how much he loved me… how much I meant to him. He couldn't bear the thought of losing me. Out of everything in the world, I was the one thing he needed."

"Yeah," is all I say. I feel sad for Craig, even though I never really knew him so maybe I have no right… but his entire existence seems to have been incredibly bitter and distorted.

"God," Kenny chokes as he's overcome with another wave of sobs. "I f-feel like I'm dying, too… but I'm not. I _can't_ die… If I could, I'd want to. Then I could be with him. We'd… We'd be together…"

"Yeah," I say again. I hold him closer. My heart is aching for him.

We stay glued together for what feels like a really long time, but I don't dare be the first to move. However, soon the door creaks open and Ruby is standing there with a pained look on her face. "Hi," she murmurs.

He pulls away from me. "Hi," he responds hoarsely, briskly wiping his eyes.

"I took Stripe," she says. "I've been feeding him… playing with him. I think he knows Craig won't come back. Maybe he's sad. I don't know… I don't know anything about animals. That was Craig's thing."

She must've been listening to us.

"Oh," is all Kenny responds with.

She takes a step into the room and moves towards Craig's closet. "Here," she says, picking up a blue hoodie. "This was his favorite sweater. He wasn't one for material items, but he really liked that sweater. He wore it a lot." She hands it to Kenny and then leaves the room without another word.

Once she's gone, Kenny buries his face in the fabric. "It still smells like him…" he murmurs.

I stand up first before helping Kenny to his feet. He hugs the sweater to his chest and I hand him the letter. He folds it and we leave the room. Kenny shuts the door and stares at the archway. "I really wish… I could say bye," he murmurs, "but it's too soon."

"That's okay," I assure him. "You're allowed to grieve."

He nods lazily and together we go back downstairs. I wait outside as he talks to Craig's family, not wanting to intrude more than I already have. It's quiet, but soon I can hear crying. Kenny leaves a few minutes later. His face is tear-streaked but his expression is hardened.

I don't ask him if he's okay. That would be fucking ridiculous. I just stand up and we get in my car. The drive is silent and soon we arrive in the poor part of town. I park on the side of the road and ask, "Want me to stick around?"

"Please," he whispers.

Inside Kenny's house, his parents don't seem to be home. However, Kevin is in the living room sitting on the sofa with a joint. The TV is on, but he probably isn't paying too much attention. When he spots us hovering, he greets his little brother kindly before nodding at me. I nod back and Kenny holds up his hand before asking, "Where's Mom and Dad?"

"Mom's at the Olive Garden and Dad's at the bar," Kevin murmurs.

"Oh," Kenny whispers.

"Did something happen?" Kevin asks. Kenny is silent, but he walks towards Kevin and pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket. It's the letter. He kept it. I don't know whether or not that's a good idea, but I won't say anything.

Kevin reads it over, eyebrows drawing together. Once he's done, he hugs his brother and whispers something I don't quite catch. It's probably yet another sympathetic apology. Nonetheless, Kenny hugs him back and says, "Yeah."

He takes the letter back when they part and I follow him upstairs.

In his room, takes a string of deep breaths. "Fuck," he chokes. "It's so stuffy in here…" He moves to open his windows, taking a deep breath.

"Cry if you want to," I tell him, flopping onto his mattress.

He turns and stares at me. "I want to wear this," he says, clutching the sweater, "but it's too hot and we don't have air conditioning."

I give him a sad smile. "We can always go to my house."

He just shakes his head, probably not wanting to cause me trouble… even though he never does. "I'd do anything just to see him…" he whispers. "I want to be able to touch him again and feel his skin and know he's warm… to feel his heartbeat and know he's alive." He shudders. "I haven't been able to touch my phone. There are photos of us on there I'm not ready to see."

"When do you think you'll be ready?" I ask gently.

"Never," he murmurs before glancing over at me. "Would you delete them?"

"Are you sure you'd be okay with that?"

He nods. "I… I have some in a photo album. I always made sure to make copies of my favorite photos – the nice ones. They're all in a box in my closet now. The ones on my phone…" he trails off, closing his eyes. "I don't want to see them again."

"Okay," I agree softly. He moves towards his closet, digging through a bin of junk before finding it. He hands it to me without a word and I click on his photos, starting to scroll. Kenny lies down with his back facing me, probably wanting to pretend something else is happening. I guess I understand it. In a way, I'm deleting history – his history with Craig.

There are a lot of pictures. Some of them are sexual. I guess I understand why Kenny didn't want to see them. It's pretty grim to have photos like this of a person who died. But I guess it means a lot that he's trusting me to see these. They're lewd. I doubt Kenny wants to look at photos of himself with Craig's dick in his mouth and vice versa ever again.

It doesn't take me long to delete them. Once they're all gone I nudge Kenny and say, "It's done."

He thanks me and takes his phone, placing it on the floor beside his mattress. "Craig liked to sleep," he says somewhat offhandedly, stretching his arms. "I think that's why his skin was so nice. Sometimes when we were together, we'd just sleep. It felt nice to sleep and hold someone, especially in the winter. He got whiny about it in the summer, though. He hated feeling sticky."

"I'm sorry," I say sincerely.

"I know," he mutters. "Everyone is sorry. It's all than can be said at times like this, huh?"

"Yeah," I mumble. "I wish there was more… but I'm kind of bad at this stuff."

"It's because you're too sympathetic," Kenny says with a small chuckle. "I know you were getting teary back at Craig's house earlier… I noticed."

"Damn," I say, forcing a smile. "I wanted to stay strong for your sake, but… didn't really work."

"That's okay," he promises. "It gets hard… but it has to get better now, right? I mean… It always hits me so hard when people in my life die. I guess I just get used to coming back when I die that I forget not everyone is as lucky as I am."

"Yeah," I say quietly. "You were with him for a long time. To lose someone you were with for years… I can't really imagine what that'd be like."

"Good," he murmurs. "I wouldn't want you to… 'cause it fucking sucks. It took me forever to get over Chef's death. Now this. This is so much worse. The way I feel… I never could've imagined a feeling this bad even existing."

I put an arm around him. I don't tell him he'll be all right or any of that, whether or not it's true. I don't think he needs to hear any reassuring crap.


	3. Naked lunch

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey  
Lyrics to "Anywhere Is" © Enya**

**I'm going to a Halloween party downtown tonight. Parties are scary weh. But I'm dressing up as a fairy and it's going to be very cute. **

* * *

_I wonder if the stars sign  
The life that is to be mine  
And would they let their light shine  
Enough for me to follow  
I look up to the heavens  
But night has clouded over  
No spark of constellation  
No Vela no Orion_

On Wednesday, the four of us get together like old times and it's nice. Cartman is a dick, Kenny is a perv and Stan smiles the whole time. It feels like we're just kids again. What I wouldn't give to go back...

The following day we go to the airport to say goodbye to Stan and Wendy. She doesn't give me any cruel looks. Instead, she hugs me and quietly promises, "I'll keep him safe and sound." Just like Stan, she's so forgiving.

I smile at her and nod when she pulls away. We watch as they walk off and I feel a bit heavy. I just need to remind myself that it'll only be two months. I can handle missing him for two months. Maybe it'll give me time to move on. Then again, maybe all my feelings will come back when I see him again. Still, it's worth a shot.

Afterwards, we get in my car. Kenny grabs the passenger seat while Cartman settles in the back. We drive to get lunch and talk about the old days.

"My treat," I tell them.

"Hell yeah," Cartman whoops and Kenny just gives me yet another smile. He seems a little lighter, but I know he's probably just putting on a big grin for show. He's good at that. He's wearing Craig's sweater. I couldn't help but notice.

* * *

After eating, we head to Kenny's place for drinking. His brother gets us liquor and we decide to make a night of it. We sit in the McCormick's backyard around the fire pit. Cartman roasts marshmallows and Kenny speaks freely once he has a few too many swigs. Cartman asks him perverse questions, laughing at everything to come out of the drunk blond's mouth. Poor fucker.

"How many dicks do you think you could take?" Cartman wonders, suppressing a smirk. He's so fucking terrible.

"Cartman," I sigh wearily, interjecting before Kenny can answer. "Stop asking him shit like that."

"Why?" the fat ass shrugs. "Not like he cares. Do yah, Freckles?"

"Nope!" Kenny exclaims carelessly. "I could probably take four. One in each hand and one in each hole."

I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying not to visualize it.

"What's the weirdest thing you put up your ass?" Cartman asks next.

Kenny starts snickering. "Where to start," he murmurs. "When I was fifteen I fucked a gear shift in some dude's car."

"Holy _shit_!" Cartman laughs boisterously and I nearly choke on my own spit. "You crazy slut!"

"Yeah," Kenny sighs. "It was pretty thick. Felt _gooood_…"

I shake my head. "You're insane, dude." I won't try telling him how wrong I think it is. He was too young to have experienced so much. That still holds true now. He's still so young. Nonetheless, he shrugs unceremoniously, reaching for the mostly-empty rum bottle we've been passing around. I grab his hand and say, "Ken, I _really_ think you've had enough."

He sighs, rubbing his temples. "No," he moans. "I don't wanna feel…"

That's a new one. "Why not?" I ask him gently.

"Because it _hurts_!" he raises his voice, staring at me as if it should be obvious. Of course it is.

"Right," I murmur and Cartman raises an eyebrow. He looks like he's about to say something, but I shake my head and mouth, 'Later.'

He simply nods. I'm glad he has at least enough tact not to brush me off this time. Jesus Christ. I just love spending quality time with my friends.

* * *

Soon enough, Kenny passes out and Cartman doesn't hesitate to ask me questions – questions that have probably been on his mind all night. "Well…?" he asks expectantly.

I shake my head. "Let's put him to bed and then I'll satisfy your curiosity."

We kill the fire and Cartman picks Kenny up bridal style. Inside, Karen turns her nose up at her brother's unfortunate state. Upstairs, Cartman lies Kenny down on his mattress and I place blankets over him.

"Let's go," I murmur. I'll text Kenny in the morning and let him know we left.

Without a word, Cartman and I make our way back outside and into the warm, night air. "So…?" he urges.

"Remember when Craig died," I start, "and he left that ambiguous note?"

Cartman nods thoughtfully. "A pretty fucked up thing to do."

"Yeah," I murmur, "but Kenny discovered that the note wasn't directed to any of Craig's friends or family. He was worried it might've been, but it wasn't."

"How'd he find out?" Cartman pries.

I tell him about finding the letter and I tell him about the contents of that letter. The entire time, his face remains blank. He's not one for sympathy, even if he feels it he won't let it show. He simply nods when I'm finished speaking and for a few minutes it's perfectly silent.

"Kinny sure knows how to pick 'em," he says. "Always the fuck ups."

I roll my eyes. "Don't make jokes. It's too soon."

But perhaps now that Kenny knows what happened, he'll be able to move on from denial. Next comes step two – whatever it may be. I'm betting on anger. I'll prepare myself for it and hope it comes soon. He deserves to be happy again.

"Kinny… has a boner for pain and destruction," Cartman murmurs.

"I know," I agree somewhat sadly. I can't deny it's true. "Especially now."

"He's trying to dull his senses because he's feeling an emotional overload and none of what he's feeling is good," Cartman says sagely.

"Wise words coming from you," I smile slightly.

He glances at me and protests faintly with, "Hey, I can be smart sometimes."

"Sometimes." I feel my smile widen. Cartman is vile as ever, but I appreciate our quieter moments like this – when he isn't teasing me and when things are perfectly content. It's strange to think of this as a nice moment, especially with the context, but I suppose it kind of is. The moon is up and it's another mild summer night. It's silent apart from us, as if we're the only two people in the world. It would be perfect if Kenny and Stan were here, but they aren't. Stan is in Dubai and Kenny drank himself to the point of unconsciousness.

"Thinkin', Jew?" Cartman asks out of the blue.

"Yeah," I murmur. Before he can ask, I decide to answer. "I'm thinking about how much things have changed since we were little kids. Everything seems to have gone to shit… but I guess some things have changed for the better."

"Like what?" he pries.

"Me and you," I admit. "I think we've both matured a bit." He used to try so hard to pull a reaction out of me. It was a talent of his. No one could get me riled up the way he did.

He smirks at that. "God damn, you were a screamer."

I nod, smiling faintly at the innuendo – though it's hardly true in _that_ sense. But I screamed a lot as a kid. That's why my voice is now permanently hoarse and raspy. The damage is done, but my mom still made me see a speech therapist because she was worried I'd ruin my vocal cords. I didn't. I've mellowed out since then… but clearly not enough. It comes and goes and liquor definitely doesn't help. I hurt Stan. It's something I'm going to have a hard time forgiving myself for. I've loved him for so long and I got so fed up. I snapped. But I get it. I think I always knew he'd never be mine. In ways, he was always untouchable. I was fucking him and touching every inch of his body, but his mind was light years away.

I don't know where I'll go from here. I don't know how I'll move on… but I know the first step is to forgive myself. It's all a person can do when they fuck up royally – promise to be better and then move on. Dwelling isn't healthy. I hope Kenny learns this, too.

Soon, we reach Cartman's house. "See yah, Jew," he waves, turning up his driveway.

"Goodnight," I return, continuing to walk home.

By the time I reach my place, I'm about ready to hit the floor. The house is silent; causing me to assume everyone is asleep. I move quietly, trying not to wake anyone. Upstairs, I undress and throw on some comfortable clothes – sweatpants and a baggy tee. I cross the hallway into the bathroom to take a piss, wash my face and brush my teeth. After that, I retreat to my room and kill the lights before letting my head hit the pillows.

* * *

The following morning, I wake up, shower and laze around the house. Dad is at his office, Mom is doing charity work and Ike is at a summer study group. Since I'm home alone, I make lunch naked. Livin' on the edge. I slab some veggies on some bread. I make the shittiest sandwiches. They always lack flavor. If anyone else made this for me, it'd taste like total shit… but whenever you put time and effort into something, you end up tolerating it and congratulating yourself on a job well done. Shit, I'm so stereotypically single it's ridiculous.

Soon enough, the doorbell rings. Since I'm still in the buck, I need to make myself modest. I grab a pillow from the sofa and cover my crotch area before glancing through the peephole. It's only Kenny. I open the door and greet him.

"Hey," he says flatly, holding up a hand. He looks miserable and hung over.

"I'll get dressed," I say, closing the door behind him.

"Don't bother," he sighs, moving into the living room and flopping onto the sofa. "I've seen it before."

I shrug, unable to deny it. "How's your head?" I ask him, hovering.

"Heavy," he admits. "Throbbing."

"That's what you get for getting white boy wasted," I say with humor

He smirks cynically in response. "Whatever," he murmurs. "Go put some pants on, exhibitionist."

I toss the pillow at him and smile wryly before going upstairs to get dressed. I throw on sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt on before returning downstairs. I grab my lunch from the kitchen as well as an ice pack from the freezer before joining Kenny in the living room. "Want anything to eat?" I ask, offering him the ice pack and sitting down.

"No," he murmurs, taking it and pressing it against his head. "I'm too hung over for food."

"Fair enough." I pause. "So… what's up?"

"I'm hung over and miserable," he states. "I just want to be around someone. Distract me."

"How?" I ask.

"Talk," he requests. "About anything… your own problems or something stupid and unimportant. I don't care. I just want to listen to you and not have to think about things."

"All right," I say quietly. I take one last bite of my sandwich and put the plate on the coffee table. "Give me a prompt."

"Talk about Stan," he suggests.

I let out a sigh. "Asshole," I murmur lightly. "That's hardly something stupid and unimportant."

He smiles at me, shifting and lying his head on my lap. I can feel the ice pack through my sweatpants, but I don't complain. "C'mon," he urges, staring up at me. "Talk about your problems so I can stop thinking about mine."

"It's weird," I start. "He's gone to the Middle East with his girlfriend. This is going to be the first summer where we're not all together… but I think Stan is kind of glad to be getting away from me. I was a huge dick. I dunno why I got so crazed."

"Because love is selfish," Kenny murmurs hazily. His eyes are closed and he's rubbing his forehead with the ice pack. "It turns us into animals."

"Yeah," I agree, "but it shouldn't be like that… True love should be selfless. Shouldn't it?"

"Yeah," Kenny says, "but people aren't usually capable of being selfless when it comes to love. We get possessive over other people."

"I've never wanted anyone as bad as I want Stan," I continue. "Knowing he'll never want me back… it's really kind of shattering."

"Now all you can do is fall out of love," Kenny offers flatly. "It's all I can do, too."

"It seems impossible," I mumble.

"It's not," Kenny says, "but it's hard."

"How do you know?" I wonder. He opens his eyes and wrinkles his nose at me, but doesn't respond. "Been in love more than once?" I pry.

"Maybe," he admits, handing the ice pack to me. "A long time ago… but I got over it and Craig was all that matters… _is_ all that matters."

"Yeah," I whisper, placing it on the side table.

He clicks his tongue and when I stare down he has a hand placed over his eyes. He's biting his lower lip, looking grievous as ever. "It's not working…" he whimpers.

"What?" I ask stupidly.

"It's not working!" he shouts it this time, sitting up and staring at me. "I'm trying not to think but it's not fucking working!"

"Of course not," I say quietly. "It never does."

"You were supposed to distract me," he accuses, "not make me even more depressed."

"I'm sorry," I apologize, even though I don't know what I did wrong.

He presses his fingertips against his closed eyelids and lets out a string of slow, deep sighs. I feel his breath on my face. It smells like alcohol still and I can't help but wonder if some of that is fresh.

"Ken," I start. "Are you drunk?"

"No," he murmurs.

"Don't lie," I warn, trying not to sound as annoyed as I am. "Were you drinking this morning?"

"Kyle," he says my name, opening his eyes and staring at me pointedly. "Don't you know? The only way to cure a hangover is with more liquor."

"Oh, yeah?" I snort. "Well, clearly it didn't work."

"I guess I didn't drink enough," he sighs forlornly.

"Don't drink so early," I say. "Do you want to turn into your dad?"

"Low blow, Kyle," he murmurs.

"Sorry," I apologize yet again, but with more sincerity this time.

"But you're right," Kenny sighs his admittance. "My dad is the biggest alcoholic in town and my mom comes in second place. Kevin is probably in third place, followed by Randy Marsh. Maybe fifth spot is being reserved for me."

"Tsk," I click my tongue. "Shut up, dude. Alcohol doesn't solve shit. You know it and I know it. It might make you numb for a bit, but in the end it just causes you to dwell."

"Life lessons," he says emotionlessly. "I can say things to hurt you, too, you know."

"I'm not trying to _hurt_ you," I point out. "I'm trying to _help_."

"Then help your damn self!" he shouts. He stands up and moves towards the door.

"Where are you going?" I ask with a sigh, following him.

"To see Eric," he says airily.

"Why the hell are you going to do that? So you can feel even worse about yourself? He's not going to be nice to you. He'll just make you cry and he might not even mean for it. That's just the way he is. You're already hurting, so just… don't make things worse for yourself."

He laughs in disbelief, throwing a weak punch at my shoulder. "Shut up!" he demands, so I press my lips together, remaining silent. "You don't just get to say stuff like that!" he decides angrily. All I do is stare at him. "Why aren't you saying anything?" he asks impatiently.

"You told me to shut up," I point out.

"I didn't mean it!" he exclaims. "_God_, Kyle!"

"Then what?" I question with exasperation. "Where do you want me?" Because, quite frankly, I don't know what he wants from me, _least_ of all how to give it to him.

He stares at me for a minute before slumping to the floor. He leans against the door and sighs. "I don't know," he admits after a pause. "I'm just being a needy baby. Reassure me."

"Is that what you want?" I wonder, sitting on the floor across from him.

"Will it help?" he asks.

"I don't know," I chuckle bitterly.

"Try," he requests softly.

"Okay," I start. "Someday soon this will all get better. You'll heal. You'll be able to remember the good and not feel like you need to run away from the bad. You'll accept things for the way they are and no longer wish that you had the power to change the outcome. You won't lose your breath when you say his name. You won't choke on it. You'll be able to say his name again and it'll come out easy. With that, the memories will also come easier. Time _does_ heal wounds, Kenny. No matter how big or how small."

He offers a smile. "All right."

"Do you feel any better?" I ask.

"Not really," he says.

I smile back, but with sympathy. "I didn't think so."

"Thanks anyway," he says.

"Sure." I reach over and touch his shoulder, giving it a squeeze before letting go. I get to my feet, helping him up. "Stay here," I suggest. "Don't go see Cartman."

"All right," he relents. "Hey… can I take a nap?"

I nod. "You can have my bed."

"Thanks, Kyle," he says sincerely.

"No problem, dude," I promise.

I follow him upstairs and watch him crawl into my bed as if it were his own. He's spent many nights at my house as well as Stan's and Cartman's. He says sometimes it is easier than being at his own place, especially when his parents have friends over. Kenny says sometimes his dad's friends get drunk and try things. I told him when that happens he shouldn't hesitate to come straight to my place. I wonder if he'll still take that advice, or if he'll just grow not to care. He's so apathetic now. He welcomes new pain to numb the pain he already feels. I don't want him to find new ways to hurt himself. Pain should never be a distraction.

I grab my laptop before going back downstairs. I sit at the kitchen table and check Facebook. There's nothing exciting happening. Cartman posted an anti-Semitic comic to my wall. Asshole. I continue scrolling mindlessly down my newsfeed until the front door opens. I get up and round the corner to see Ike and Ma.

"Hey," I greet.

"Hi, Bubby," Ma says. "I see you haven't left the house today."

I stare down at my comfy clothes and say, "Nope."

"Ike has been tutoring," she continues, putting a hand on his shoulder and beaming.

Ike doesn't look like he cares about the praise. He offers me a sympathetic smile. It doesn't take a genius to see that he's the favorite child. I can't really keep up. Nonetheless, I just smile back, trying not to care. "That's great."

"Not really," he says with a sigh. "Everyone is so stupid."

"Well, you're a great teacher so you're probably doing them all a lot of good," I offer.

He shrugs. "Hopefully – otherwise it's just not worth my time."

Ma ruffles his hair and says, "Be nice. They're paying you."

He wrinkles his nose but doesn't protest. Instead, he escapes upstairs and I turn back into the kitchen. Ma follows me inside and I decide to tell her, "Kenny is here."

She gives me a look. "And why aren't you with him?"

"He was tired and lonely, I think," I say. "I said he could nap in my room."

"That's sweet of you," she says with a sigh. "That poor boy. He's been through so much… far too much for a child of his age."

"Yeah," I murmur in agreement. "The worst things always happen to people who don't deserve it."

"How is he coping?" she asks, getting a pot out of the cupboard.

"He's not," I answer.

"I'm making stew," she says offhandedly.

"No onions," I tell her.

"I'm going to put a few in," she decides. "They add flavor."

I make a face but relent nonetheless, "Fine."

As she gathers ingredients she asks more questions about Kenny. "How are his parents helping him?"

"They're not, really," I say. "I don't think they know how. They're just kind of there… giving him pats on the back when he looks like he might cry."

"Well," she sighs, "He's _always_ welcome here, no matter what time of day."

"That's what I told him." And he knows it, which is why he so often shows up out of the blue. "Anyway, I'll go check on him." I close my laptop and pick it up before leaving the room and moving back upstairs. I walk past Ike's open door, seeing surfing on his own computer.

"Kyle," he says my name.

"Hm?" I poke my head inside.

"How is Kenny?" he asks. "I saw him in your bed."

"Yeah," I murmur. "He's not doing so well."

"Understandably so," Ike says. "Hopefully… Hopefully he'll be able to move on from it."

"Yeah," I murmur again before continuing back down the hallway and into my room. I set my laptop on my desk quietly, but Kenny is already awake. He sits up and I ask, "So, did you fall asleep?"

"For like thirty minutes, maybe," he says, "but then I heard your mom and brother come home."

"Sorry," I offer. "Ma is pretty loud when she talks." And there's no point in asking her to be a little quieter. "You can stay here tonight if you want."

"It wouldn't be a problem?" he asks.

"No," I promise. "Everyone likes having you here."

Quite frankly, I think my ma likes having him here so much because it makes her feel the way she feels when she's doing charity work. Whether or not that's the right reason, I'm glad she doesn't mind his presence.

* * *

We spend the rest of the day lounging around the house. Come dinner, we all eat together as my ma makes idle conversation. Later in the night, Kenny heads to sleep early. I decide to follow him.

"Thanks, Kyle," he says again, groggily this time.

"It's no problem, Kenny," I reply.


	4. I'm the worst

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey  
Lyrics to "Anywhere Is" © Enya**

* * *

_The shells upon the warm sands  
Have taken from their own lands  
The echo of their story  
But all I hear are low sounds  
As pillow words are weaving  
And willow waves are leaving  
But should I be believing  
That I am only dreaming_

Come morning, I wake up early and shower. After washing up, I dry off and wrap a towel around my waist before returning to my room. Kenny is still lying still in my bed. "Kenny?" I say his name aloud, but there's no answer. He's still asleep. I leaf through my closet, grabbing a pair of jeans, some shorts and a t-shirt. I drop my towel and slip them on. When I turn around, Kenny's eyes are open. "Just wake up?" I ask.

"No," he murmurs groggily, "I just wanted to watch you change."

"Perv," I comment, but I'm not all that surprised.

He gives me a hazy smile. "That ass," he sighs. "Bebe was right about you, y'know."

"So I've been told," I snort, crossing my arms. "Want to get up?"

"No," he says, letting out a long groan.

"You'll get a headache if you sleep for too long," I warn him. He emits a whiny sigh, sitting up. "I have work around noon," I continue, "but you're free to sit around here with Ike. He's not doing much today."

"I'm just going to head home," Kenny says. "I need to shower and change anyway. I work later, too. I've got the night shift."

I make a face. "That sucks."

Working the night shift in a convenient store is about as scary as you'd imagine. Kenny says he shudders every time a customer walks in after 1AM. I don't blame him. He's not particularly strong and wouldn't put up much of a fight if he got attacked. Fortunately for him, he'll bounce back… but it sucks either way.

He shrugs carelessly. "I'll gladly welcome the distraction."

"Well," I pause. "Still, be careful."

"Always am," he insists.

What a lie. I resist the urge to roll my eyes at him. He gets up and out of bed and I follow him downstairs. "Sure you don't want to stay and eat?" I offer.

"I'm sure," he promises. "Bye, Kyle."

I wave him off and shut the door once he's gone. In the kitchen, I make yet another tasteless sandwich before getting in the car and heading to work.

* * *

I close the store at eleven. When I'm on my way home I get a call from Kenny's brother. He sounds worried. "What's up?" I ask.

"_Kenny never showed to work_," he says. "_His boss called a few hours ago. I've been searching around town but no one has seen him_."

"Shit," I whisper.

"_I'm worried he might be running around freaking out or something_."

Kenny freaks out a lot. I don't know why. This is definitely not the first time it has happened and it probably won't be the last, either. Sometimes I think there's something seriously wrong in his head, but he dismisses me every time I tell him to see a doctor. They'd probably put him on pills and the pills wouldn't work because he'd just die before they started to take effect. Still, I think therapy is worth a shot… but he never seems to agree. He's been through a lot, even before Craig died. His family situation is crap, he didn't finish high school, he has a shitty job. The list goes on for miles. He has bad fortune. I don't know why, though. He's such a good person. What goes around must not come around. If it did, I think Kenny would be a lot happier.

"Where have you looked already?" I ask. "I'm getting off work now. I can check out some of the places he frequents."

"_I've checked the diner, the bar, the coffee shop and the high school_," Kevin starts. "_I'm on my way to that crack shack on the outskirts of town. He hangs around there sometimes. Karen is waiting at home in case he returns_."

"All right," I say. "I'll check Stark's Pond and then take a drive around the block."

"_Thanks_," Kevin says before hanging up.

I turn the car around and start driving towards the pond. I park on the side of the road and slip out, making my way to the body of water. When I get there – nothing. Still, I try calling his name a few times and I'm surprised when I hear him call back.

"Where are you?" I ask, keeping my voice raised.

I hear rustling and then he appears from behind a tree. "I was resting," he says airily.

"Out here?" I question him. "Why? You missed work."

"Oh," he doesn't sound like he cares. "I was sure I only fell asleep for a few minutes."

"It's dark…" I tell him, gesturing to the sky. "You were gone a long time. Your brother and sister are worried." He walks past me, not sparing me a glance. I grab his arm and add, "Come on, I'll take you home."

He nods, not protesting. We walk to my car and he gets in the passenger's seat. Once we're settled, I ring up Kevin. "I found him," I say. I tell him I'm taking Kenny home and not to worry because he isn't hurt. Kevin thanks me once again, sounding immensely relieved.

On the ride back, Kenny stares out the window. When we pull into his driveway, I force him to look at me. His eyes are glazed over, like he's spacing out.

"Hey," I snap my fingers in front of his face. "Dude, what is wrong with you?"

"Nothing, Kyle!" he exclaims suddenly. He leans forward and kisses me quickly before leaving the car. I decide to walk him to the door in case he tries to make a run for it.

He doesn't, though. Kevin hugs his brother and then slaps him. "Dumbass, don't do shit like that," he scolds.

"God," Kenny laughs, rubbing his cheek. "Why does it matter? I can't stay dead."

"There are worse things than death," Kevin warns him. "Karen's in her room. Go apologize for worrying her."

Kenny sneers at his brother but nonetheless obeys and wanders up the stairs.

"Sorry," Kevin says. I don't know if he's apologizing for Kenny's behaviour of if he's apologizing for calling me in the first place. Either way, it wasn't a waste of time. I don't want anything bad to happen to Kenny. Kevin is right – there are worse things than dying… especially for someone who always comes back.

I shrug. "I don't mind. He's my friend. His safety is a priority of mine."

Kevin only nods, patting me on the shoulders. "Again, thanks."

I wave, turning around and walking back to my car. The drive is short and when I'm home, I head straight to my room and put on some comfortable clothes. Next I open my laptop and turn it on. While it boots up, I go into the kitchen and fill a glass of water. My parents are at the table chatting about their day. When they ask about mine, I tell them it was boring. It's not a complete lie. It was boring until Kevin called. Then it just got a bit stressful.

I bid them a goodnight before going back upstairs. Sitting at my desk, I start scrolling mindlessly through my Facebook feed until I see Kenny's disturbing posts. I click on his profile and read his spam of statuses, newest to oldest.

**Kenneth McCormick **1 min**  
**_Someone come fuck my brains out I don't want to think  
_1 person likes this.

**Kenneth McCormick** 7 mins  
_Good to know I'm insaneeee!  
_4 people like this.

**Kenneth McCormick** 11 mins  
_I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LVOE IYUO DALDFKASLDKF LAKSJFALSK _  
1 person likes this.

**Kenneth McCormick** 19 mins  
_I REALLY APPRECIATE BEING ABUSED BY PEOPLE IN MY OWN HOUSE THANK YOU DADDY I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU  
_Eric Cartman comments: _You okay, dude_?  
Bebe Stevens comments: _Kenny, text me back right now! _  
Clyde Donovan comments: _Call me._

**Kenneth McCormick** 24 mins  
_FUCK FUCK FUCK UFCK UFCK FUCKU FUCK FUCK FUCK YOUU_  
Eric Cartman and 6 others like this.

Jesus Christ. What the fuck am I reading? I shoot Kenny a text. When he doesn't reply within a few minutes, I shoot Kevin a text and he responds lazily a minute later.

KEVIN: hes freakin out don't worry ill watch him

ME: All right, don't hesitate to let me know if you need anything.

KEVIN: thanks

I plug my phone in its charger since it's almost dead. I continue scrolling through Facebook for a few minutes before checking my emails. There's nothin' interesting – just a bit of spam. I close my computer and head into the bathroom, brushing my teeth, washing my face and taking a piss.

I miss Stan. I've been missing him a lot. I guess this is a stupid thing to think about while pissing, but it comes and goes. Sometimes I feel like crying over the whole thing… and other times, I know I'll be fine.

After taking care of business, I return to my room and close the lights. I crawl into bed and get a boner, still thinking about Stan and remembering all the times I've fucked him right in this very spot. God, I'm a slapdick. I'm not even horny. I'm just upset.

I really fuckin' miss Stan. That's not to say Kenny isn't fun. He is. Kenny has all of the good qualities you'd want in a friend… but he also has some of the bad ones. Plus, like Stan, he's kind of high maintenance. Still… I guess it makes you want to protect him. I'm not usually one to romanticize the "protect me, save me" bullshit, but Kenny needs to be protected. He won't protect himself so someone else should do it.

Whatever. I need to stop thinking about things that are going to cause me to worry. I need sleep.

* * *

The next couple weeks go by unceremoniously and then it's August. Kenny is back to normal. He seems all right. We've both been working a lot, but during our off days we hang out. Cartman has been around, too.

Kenny hasn't mentioned his Facebook statuses. I tried to bring them up, but he brushed me off. He didn't want to talk. I understand that. I'll wait. Kevin went on Kenny's computer and deleted all of the posts the morning after. I don't blame him.

I still miss Stan, but I'm beginning to miss him less. I wonder if time apart is helping me get over him… but at the same time, will the feelings return when he does? I'm kind of scared to find out. I don't want the feelings to stay. I want them gone for good. I want me friendship with Stan to be the way it was before he found out how I feel.

I've been going to the gym more frequently. I like running. It helps me clear my mind. It calms me down when I'm feeling like shit and can't stop thinking about things I shouldn't be thinking about.

I'm at the gym now. I've been running for an hour, but I'm done now. When I turn around, I spot Kenny behind the glass doors. He holds up a hand before entering.

"Hey," he greets.

"Hey," I echo.

"I was watching you."

"Yeah?" I ask. "What did you think?"

"You looked determined," he says. "And you also looked like you were running away from something instead of just running."

"Clever," I say with a little smile.

He follows me to the locker room and I can tell he's not going to let this go. "So," he urges. "What were you running away from?"

"Thoughts," I admit.

"Stan?" he assumes.

"No," I murmur, but who am I kidding?

"You're an awful liar," he says with a laugh. "You know, I can always tell when you're lying. You do this thing with your left eyebrow. I think it's unconscious. It kind of tilts up while your right one tilts down."

I try to blank my face. "I wasn't thinking about Stan," I insist.

He snorts. "Sure, Kyle. If you say so." I just wrinkle my nose at him. I always thought I was a good liar. I guess not. I unlock my locker and grab a towel from my gym bag. Kenny sits on a bunch and says, "I'll wait here. Let's do something after."

"You don't work?" I ask, undressing and shoving my sweaty clothes in my bag.

He shakes his head. "Not today."

"All right," I agree. I turn away and round the corner, moving towards the showers. I turn on the taps and rinse off quickly, wrapping the towel around my waist.

Kenny is still sitting on the bench in front of the lockers. He's playing with his phone. When he spots me, he shoves it in his pocket and smiles.

"Want to talk?" I ask him.

"What about?"

"Facebook," is all I say.

He only laughs. "No big deal. I just needed to let out some anger. I deleted the posts in the morning."

"Kevin deleted them," I correct.

He pouts. "How do you know?"

"He told me."

"I didn't know you guys were such good friends," he says sourly.

"We're on good terms," I tell him vaguely. The reason me and Kevin talk so much these days is because of Kenny. He's worried Kenny will screw himself over worse than he already has. He's worried Kenny will get hurt or hurt himself. He's already been hurt more than words can say. He doesn't need anymore, but sadly there are times when people get stuck in dangerous cycles.

Kenny smiles bitterly. "Maybe this would stop if I prayed and went to church. Maybe I'm just… bad to the bone."

"What would stop?" I ask.

"Death," he says. "I die… other people die…"

Oh. Stage three – bargaining. What if this, what if that.

"You're not bad," I tell him sincerely. "You're one of the best people I know. Shit happens and sometimes it happens to people who don't deserve it. That's life."

"No sympathy from Kyle," he murmurs.

"I didn't think you'd want any," I admit. "Most people don't."

He stands up, sighing. "You're right," he says. "I don't want sympathy."

"What _do_ you want, then?" I ask. There's something in the tone of his voice that tells me he knows _exactly_ what he wants.

"Fuck me," he says nonchalantly. "Right here, right now. Fuck me."

I give him a strange look. "_What_?"

"Do it, Kyle," he demands, standing in front of me. "Take care of me, Kyle. That's what you want, right? You want to take care of me." He moves closer and closer until our chests are pressed together. "Do it," he says again. "Take care of me."

"Not like _this_," I tell him, putting my hands on his shoulders to keep him at a distance.

"Liar," he continues, staring up at me. "You like me like this, don't you?" He raises his arms, knocking my hands away. I let them fall to my sides and I simply stare at him. He's not himself. I know that, but what can I do?

"What happened?" I ask.

He wraps his arms around my neck and hangs off of me. "Nothing out of the ordinary," he says. "Daddy yelled at me. He had friends over and they all thought it was funny because I'm a bratty little ho-bag. I got angry."

"Your dad is a dick," I tell him.

"When he drinks," Kenny corrects me quickly.

"Alcohol doesn't excuse _shit_," I growl. "Your dad is still a dick."

Kenny rubs his forehead against my shoulder and lets out a long whine. "Stop."

Kenny's family value rears its ugly head again. Many people believe you should always love your family. I don't. I think that's just shit. Parents can be abusers. Siblings can be just as bad. There are times when you're allowed to dislike your family. Kenny's dad is a fucking dick and I don't understand how Kenny can still love him so much. Sure, his parents say they love him back and I know they do… but they still do so much wrong. It can't really be excused.

"Let go," I say softly. "Let me get dressed and we'll go do something."

"Fuck me," he says again, tightening his grip.

"Not here," I murmur. "And not like this." Kenny deserves way better than a quickie in a public locker room. Apart from that, someone could walk in at any time and I'm not into exhibitionism.

"Fuck you," he whispers this time.

"Let go," I tell him once more. He doesn't. I relent for a minute and that's when I notice the dampness of his breath. He's crying. "Kenny…" I say his name piteously, rubbing his back. "Come on, let me get dressed and we can do something – anything you want."

He draws back a split second later, sniffling and wiping his eyes. He takes a quick breath and then laughs. "No, it's fine. I'm fine."

"Liar," I call him out. I grab my change of clothes – jeans and a tee – and zip up my bag when I'm dressed. I offer Kenny the hand that isn't currently holding my bag. He accepts and we leave the building.

"I'm upset," he decides to admit.

"I can tell," I say. "Want to talk about it?"

"I miss Craig," he murmurs. His eyes glaze over at the mention of his ex-boyfriend's name. "He knew how to deal with me and I never scared him away."

"You don't need to be _dealt _with," I sigh. "You're not a child. You're a man."

"I'm a fucking baby," he argues bitterly.

"No, you're not." I let go of his hand when we reach my car. He gets in the passenger seat while I stick my bag in the trunk before getting in the driver's seat.

"I can't even think straight," he murmurs. "I feel like shit all the time and I wanna fucking die but I _can't_. All I can do is sit and think about all the worst things until I finally snap and I need to go distract myself so I have sex with the first person who is interested."

I click my tongue. "Tsk, Kenny… you really shouldn't do shit like that. You'll get yourself into trouble."

"What's more trouble?" he snorts. "I'd gladly welcome it. Distractions! Distractions are good, even if they're bad!"

"Sh," I hush him as his voice starts rising. "We're supposed to be falling _out_ of love," I remind him. "We're not supposed to be hurting ourselves. We're supposed to be doing this in a healthy, safe way."

"I know," he laughs bitterly, "and here I am fuckin' sleeping with Craig's sweatshirt… It doesn't even smell like him anymore. It just smells like me and all the strangers I roll around with."

"Then stop," I say, though I know it's not that simple. It never is. It reminds me of the things kids used to say about Kenny when we were younger – before Craig entered the picture.

Q: What's the difference between Kenny McCormick and a dog?  
A: The dog learns quicker.

Q: What's the difference between Kenny McCormick and a dead-end job?  
A: Nothing. They both suck mad dick.

Q: What's the difference between Kenny McCormick and a penny whore?  
A: The whore is more expensive.

Q: What's the difference between Kenny McCormick and a foldable chair?  
A: You don't need to pry his legs open.

Q: What's the difference between Kenny McCormick and a dead horse?  
A: The dead horse smells better.

I could go on… but I won't. It's too fucking cruel. Kids are awful. He always laughed it off, but I knew it hurt him more than he let on. It stopped after Craig and Kenny started to date. I don't know if it's because people were scared of Craig or if it was because Kenny finally settled down.

"It's hard for me, Kyle," he reminds me tartly. "Maybe it's easy for you… but it's not for me." A pause. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?" I ask, keeping my eyes on the road.

"Well… you seem to be doing fine," he says. "What's your trick?"

"No trick," I admit. "I guess I'm just a determined person. _Healthy_ distractions help. I'm just trying to focus on myself. Sure, Stan crosses my mind every so often but… I'm finding myself missing him less now. It takes effort, though, believe me…"

"Do you think it's just because you're used to him being gone?" Kenny wonders. "Will you start fawning over him again when he gets back?"

"I don't know," I laugh. "I was thinking about that earlier today and… shit, I really don't know. I hope not. I don't want to go back to that place. It's not a good idea and it's not fair to Stan."

"Yeah," Kenny whispers in agreement. "I can't help but think what I could have done differently to prevent Craig dying. If I paid more attention… maybe I would have noticed and we could have resuscitated him and he would still be here…"

"Don't, Kenny," I warn gently. "It's a bad idea to go there. You'll drive yourself crazy with all these damn possibilities."

He laughs at me. "Don't you know, Kyle? I'm already _craaaaazy_."

"You're not," I promise him. "You've just got a lot of shit going on. It's no wonder you lose it every so often. We all lose it. I lost it at the beginning of summer and beat up my best friend." I glance at Kenny briefly before staring back at the street. He looks thoughtful… and miserable. I decide to change the subject. "Want to go to my place?"

"Sure," he says carelessly.

A few minutes later, we're parking the car. Inside, we sit in front of the television and I turn on the PlayStation. We play _Tekken_. Kenny sucks at this game, but I think it'll be a healthier distraction than musical fuck-chairs.

He lets out a frustrated shriek. "Shitting cunt-fuck!"

"Impressive," I say with light sarcasm. We play a few rounds and then he gets too worked up, so I offer to make him something.

"No, thanks," he says. "You suck at cooking. I'll make something instead."

"You're the guest," I start, but he cuts me off with a loud scoff.

"How long have we known each other?" he asks before answering, "Almost all of our eighteen years. Trust me, I am not a guest in your house, dude."

I hold up my hands innocently. "All right, go for it."

We move into the kitchen and Kenny begins looking through cupboards, gathering things onto the counter. I give him free reign, making idle chat as I sit at the table and watch. One thing I've learned through the years is that Kenny has many hidden talents he doesn't show off – cooking is one of them. If he cares about you, he'll share his talents with you. That's how you know you mean something to him.

* * *

He ends up making a fancy pasta dish. When he sets the plate in front of me it looks like a picture you might find in a cook book.

"Wow," I say. "Looks good."

"You have a lot of interesting ingredients and things in your cupboards," he comments, sitting across from me.

"How did you learn how to cook?" I wonder. I've never bothered asking before.

He shrugs. "Craig taught me how. He was a good cook… and I basically lived at his house so we had a lot of time."

"Oh," I say softly.

Dinner is silent and I feel like I've made things awkward for Kenny. Then again, maybe it's okay to talk about Craig. Better out than in, right?

* * *

When Ike comes home, Kenny gets him a plate and we put the leftovers in the fridge. After eating, I take Kenny upstairs. "Can I use your shower?" he asks. "I haven't showered in a couple days… I probably smell."

"You don't," I assure him.

"Everything about Craig dying is hard," he murmurs. "It sounds selfish when I say it like this… but I got used to the resources we didn't have at my own house. I'd just go to his place and I could eat, shower… sleep on a nice bed. We never have warm water at my house. I hate taking cold showers. They hurt. We never have food in the fridge – just beer and cold cuts… and my bed is a stiff, old mattress sitting on the floor. Strangers come and go. Sometimes they're in my room… I fucking hate that. I _hate_ it."

Yet again, I say, "Well, you're always welcome here… even when I'm not. My parents love you. So does Ike."

"I know," he says with a faint smile. "Thanks."

I grab him a towel and wait for him in my room. I surf the net a bit, reading the news. I stare at an article about the Syrian conflict. Again, it reminds me of Stan. He and Wendy are still in the Middle East, but they'll be flying back near the end of the month.

I decide to quit reading depressing news and log onto Facebook instead, which is at least a _little bit_ less depressing. As soon as I log on, I am greeted with photos of Stan and Wendy's vacation. I click on the album. There are photos of cities, there are photos of skylines, and there are photos of people I've never seen before. I'm assuming they're Wendy's relatives. It looks like they're having a nice time. Good for them…

"Kyle." I jump, turning around. Kenny is standing in a towel, with arms crossed. "Stop looking at pictures of Stan," he commands.

I close the window before closing my laptop. "Sorry…"

He only shrugs. "Can I borrow clothes?"

I nod, standing up and moving towards my closet. I dig out a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt. They'll be a bit baggy on him, but I doubt he'll mind. He takes them graciously and I avert my eyes while he dresses. He laughs at me for it.

"Why so shy, Kyle?" he asks in a simper. "It's nothing you haven't seen and explored quite thoroughly."

"I'm being _polite_," I tell him tartly.

He stands in front of me once modest and I can't help but admire him wearing my clothes – baggy as they are. He looks cute as hell. "What do you want to do now?" he asks, crossing his arms again.

"I don't know," I say. I dig out my cellphone and look at the time. It's only seven. It's still early. "We can do whatever you want."

"Ugh," he scoffs, moving away and flopping onto my bed. "That's the most annoying answer ever. This is your house. You decide."

"You're the guest," I say.

"I'm not a guest," he insists. "I already told you that."

"Right, right," I murmur dismissively.

"So…?"

I lie down next to him and he immediately shifts closer. "What?"

"Sleep with me."

I let out a sigh, not wanting to consider the request. "Why?"

"I'm a sexual person," he says simply. "I want to have sex."

"There's a difference between being a sexual person and using sex as a weapon against yourself," I tell him flatly.

"What are you getting at?" he asks, eyes narrowing as he leans over me.

"I am saying that you're using sex to hurt yourself," I explain.

"Oh," is all he says. "Well… yeah. Some pain is better than other pain."

I don't understand that. I really don't fucking understand. He drapes himself over me and sighs. "C'mon, Kyle," he urges. "Let's fuck. We've already done it once. What's the harm?"

"Ike is here," I mention.

"Ike is _downstairs_," Kenny reminds me. "And apart from that, he doesn't care what we do. You know that. I don't want to think anymore. Let's fuck."

"Why?" I ask. "Why me?"

"Maybe I like you," he says, "and sleeping with someone you like is nicer than doing it with a stranger. Maybe I'm in the mood for something nice."

"Like me how?" I pry, feeling conflicted.

"You know," he says, "in the way where I want to suck your dick."

"Liar," I murmur. "You still love Craig."

"And I always will," Kenny says surely. "He was the first person I fell in love with who loved me back… but I can like you like this. It's possible to feel this way, you know."

All I can do is sigh aloud. I don't know what to make of it. It's too soon for something like this. "You… you don't have to try so hard."

"I'm not trying," he insists impatiently. He's growing short with me, I can tell. "Do you remember when you asked me if I fell in love more than once? Of course I have! I used to fall in love all the time. At one point, I even fell in love with you. It was that whimsical kind that comes and goes. In a way it was different than what I felt for Craig and maybe it's because he felt it back. I was no longer searching. So, my feelings just grew and grew and grew."

"You loved me?" I ask flatly. I never knew.

"I loved you, but I knew you loved Stan," he says with a shrug. "There wasn't room for me in that picture, even if I tried to squeeze my way in. I knew I wasn't wanted. You had to figure it out on your own… and you did."

"What now, then?" I feel like it's far too late for us to make anything of it. It isn't fair of me to even ask. I'd just be using him worse than I already have been.

"Nothing," he answers simply. "We can sleep together."

"It's not fair…" I murmur. I still feel guilty about the first time we did it. It was nice, yeah. I mean, Kenny sure knows how to work a guy up… but I don't want to use him like this. It's not right, is it?

"For who?"

"For _you_," I say pointedly.

He laughs and laughs and laughs. "I'm giving you an out, Kyle. Take it. Use me. I want you to. I don't mind."

"I _do_ mind!" I exclaim.

"Mr. Morality, you're making this harder than it has to be." He sounds annoyed. "If you don't sleep with me right now, I'm going to go out and kill myself." After a moment of silence, he gets off of me and begins to move towards the door. I don't hesitate to stand up and grab his arm, stopping him.

"Don't," I say. "Please…"

"Too late, Kyle," he sing-songs. "The offer has expired. Let me go."

I do and he turns around, giving me a sombre look. "What is it?" I ask.

"Hit me," he challenges suddenly, shoving me.

Where the fuck is this coming from? "No," I nearly choke out the word.

"Hit me!" he raises his voice.

"No," I say again.

"HIT ME!" he screams desperately.

"No!"

"HIT ME, HIT ME, HIT ME, HIT ME!" he continues. He starts slapping himself in the face and for a minute, all I can do is stare.

"Jesus Christ! Stop!" I shout when the initial shock wears off. I grab both of his hands and stare at him in disbelief. I feel nauseous and my hands are clammy. There are red palm prints on his face. He looks so fucking lost. A split second later, he rips himself out of my grip and makes a run for it. He doesn't even bother putting his shoes back on before leaving the house. The door swings open, slamming against the wall. Ike shouts something akin to _what the fuck_, but I ignore him, I follow Kenny outside and we're both running down the street bare-footed. "Kenny, stop!" I plead with him once I catch up. It doesn't take me long. I run regularly. He doesn't.

Soon enough we reach the outskirts of town and we're near the bridge. This is where Kenny stops. He climbs over the guard rail and then stares at me. His eyes are wet and angry – the anger is directed at me. I still don't understand.

"Don't," I whisper.

"I'm gonna jump," he declares. "I'm gonna fucking jump!"

"Don't!" I shout. "Seriously, Kenny. This isn't funny!"

"Fuck you, Kyle!" he sobs. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you…! It isn't supposed to be _funny, _you asshole!"

"All right," I murmur calmly. "I'm sorry."

I don't know what I did and I don't know how to fix it… but I still feel sorry. Is it even possible to feel sorry for a reason you aren't sure of? Maybe it's not guilt I'm feeling, but pity.

I inch closer and closer and soon we're standing face to face. He stares at me for another minute before throwing his hands up and letting go. With every reflex I have, I grab him and pull him back to safety before he can fall. My heart is beating so damn fast I feel like I might puke it out.

"Fucker," he says. "I knew you'd do that."

"Is that why you let go?" I ask.

"Maybe."

At least he's calmed down now. In silence, we walk back into town. I keep him close the entire time, not wanting to let him go. I walk him home and he asks me inside. We move to his room and when he makes the first move, I don't dare push him away. I'm being as gentle as my horniness will allow.

I'm the worst. I'm a bad person for doing this. I know it yet I don't know what else to do. I feel bad. I still feel nauseous.


	5. The final step

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey  
Lyrics to "Anywhere Is" © Enya**

**Last weekend I was a fairy, this weekend I was a maid. I went to the nastiest frat party the other night. Of all the weird stuff that I saw, it inspired me to start writing a new fic (which I'll probably start posting sometime this year hahahahah). It's so weird where you can find inspiration. Well, I hope everyone's Halloween weekend was as fun and eventful as mine was. **

**One more chapter after this one. I'll start posting a new fic later on~ gotta keep goin'. I have too many ideas. **

* * *

_To leave the thread of all time  
And let it make a dark line  
In hopes that I can still find  
The way back to the moment  
I took the turn and turned to  
Begin a new beginning  
Still looking for the answer  
I cannot find the finish_

August is coming to an end. Stan will be home this week with Wendy. I'm nervous to see him. Sure, the lovey feeling is still there… but I no longer feel jealous or possessive. I think the love will take longer to melt away, but I'm taking it as a good sign.

I told Kenny I wanted to take him out. He said no. I wasn't surprised. He said he didn't want to go out on a pity date.

"So, what?" I scoffed. "You'd rather be with people you hate than be with me?"

He started crying again. "It's not like that, Kyle!" he shouted. "I don't want to get hurt again!"

I understand that… and maybe it was stupid of me to ask. I guess it would have been a pity date. The only reason I asked is because he said he liked me and he let me fuck him twice… but at the same time, I feel like Kenny is the kind of guy I could fall in love with someday. I never really stopped to consider it. In the past, I've just been selfishly wrapped up in my fuck-fest with Stan. Ha.

Right now I'm at Denny's with Cartman. It's early noon and we're having lunch. He's talking about stupid things and I'm nodding along – the last girl he fucked, the last prank he played on Butters… so on, so on.

"Damn, Jew," he decides to call me out. "What I have to say it important. At least _pretend_ to be interested."

"It's not important," I tell him.

He sneers at me, dipping his fries in his milk shake. "Everything I have to say is interesting and important," he insists with a mouth full of fast food.

I roll my eyes. "Sure."

"Fine, be a dick," he says dismissively. "Why are you so fucking distracted?"

For a moment, I'm thoughtful. Should I even bother to bring it up with Cartman? He probably won't care and he definitely won't be helpful… but still, it always feels good to talk about shit. "Sometimes I think there's something wrong with him," I murmur. "Or… well, not _wrong_, per se… but different."

"What the fuck are you on about?" he asks.

"Kenny," I specify.

"Dude," Cartman snorts. "Kinny is bipolar."

"What?" I deadpan, staring at him.

He laughs at me, food shoots out of his mouth, flying every which way. "Did you seriously not know that?"

"No!" I exclaim. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"No one talks about it," he says with a shrug. "Kevin just refers to his episodes by saying Kinny is freaking out over whatever-the-fuck. It's pretty immature and stupid, but it's not my damn problem they don't want to acknowledge the issue." He pauses, laughing again. "Damn, Kahl, I can't believe you didn't know, yah dumb ass."

"Shit," I whisper. It looks different in different people. That much I know. I guess I just never realized what it was I was looking for.

Cartman sobers, nodding. "It sucks even worse since he can't really take pills and have them work their long-term effect on his head. He just dies and then his body… kind of resets."

"Fuck," I cuss again.

I can't believe it…

* * *

When I get home, I decide to do some research. I look up bipolar disorder and read a list of signs and symptoms –

1\. Depressive episodes  
2\. Hypomanic episodes  
3\. Manic episodes  
4\. Mixed episodes

"Shit," I state as I start to read. This is a lot of shit to take in. Lows include feeling empty, memory lapses, preoccupation with death, fatigue, loss of mental stimulation, worthlessness, guilt, a change in sleeping patterns… and so on. Highs include impaired judgement, impulsive decisions, feeling unusually high, unrealistic optimism, highly distracted, inability to concentrate, reckless actions, delusions, overestimating oneself… and so on. Why didn't I see it before? I should have known. I should have fucking known. Kenny has his highs and his lows. I always knew there was something more going on. I'm kind of hurt he didn't tell me, but I know this isn't about me. It's not my business. Kenny didn't tell me because clearly he isn't ready.

* * *

After my shift the following day, I decide to call Kenny. He answers me and says he's at work, but that I can swing by since it isn't busy. The drive is quick. I park my car and stroll inside.

When Kenny spots me, he holds up a hand. "I'm taking a break," he says to his boss, who waves him out.

"Hi," I croak.

He gives me a weird look before responding, "Hi, Kyle. What's with the tone?"

I shake my head. "Nothing."

We sit outside and he pulls a cigarette out, lighting it. "Stan will come back and you'll forget about me," he says simply. "That's how it will go."

"It might not," I try, but in reality… he might be right. It's hard. It's hard when I've felt a certain way about a certain person for so long. Stan is special. I feel like he always will be.

"I'm your distraction and you're mine," he continues. "What we feel now is just a product of that and that alone. Stan will come back and you'll remember how much you want him."

"I want him," I admit, "but I don't want to want him. Still, it's lessened. I don't feel as resentful... possessive."

"Too bad we can't pick and choose," Kenny says with a laugh.

We sit in silence. I watch him smoke. There's no point in telling him not to. He has nothing to lose.

"Craig was always the exception," Kenny adds as an afterthought. "Everyone failed me except for him… but in the end, he failed himself. So I guess the trade-off wasn't worth it. In the past, it's always been so fucking simple. To get over someone, I'd get under someone. Y'know? Sex. Fucking. I'd find someone new and then I'd do it all over again. That was before anyone ever loved me back. Now I have a taste for it. I don't want to go back to being a toy. I'll once again be on the rebound." He sound somewhat dejected.

"That's a good thing, Kenny," I tell him. "This means you want more for yourself and that's a damn good thing."

"That's why I don't want to be with you," he says with finality. "Stan will come back and I'll be back where I was when I was sixteen years old – even more self-destructive than I already am and I don't think I can handle it."

"It's okay," I say quietly. "You still need time. I get it. What I'm going through and what you're going through are completely different. In a way, you're the only one experiencing loss. I never lost Stan. You lost Craig."

"Yeah," Kenny whispers, sighing. "Kevin said the same thing as you did a little while ago. He told me I need to stop using sex as self-harm. I never saw it like that before you mentioned it. My instinctive reaction when he said it was to try to protest and justify myself… but I guess he's right. That pissed me off." He laughs bitterly, shaking his head. "I can't help it, though."

"I know," I murmur. "I know you're sick."

"Sick?" he asks. "I feel fine."

"No," I pause. "I know you're, like, manic depressive."

Kenny makes an 'o' shape with his mouth. "That… right. Sorry for not telling you."

"It's fine," I say with a shrug. "Does Stan know?"

Kenny shakes his head. "Just Kevin, Karen, Eric and now you. I'm assuming one of them told you?"

"Yeah," I admit. "I saw Cartman the other day. We got lunch."

"How nice." Kenny throws his cigarette on the ground, stepping on it.

I'm about to tell him not to litter, but I stop myself. Instead, I say, "What's it like?"

He lets out a breath and shrugs. "It's different for everyone," he says airily. "Some people may have certain symptoms while others don't. Mania and depression last different lengths for different people as well. Some people have frequent mood swings and others don't."

"Shit," I deadpan. "What's it like when you're high?"

"Well," he starts, "for me, personally, I get pretty shaky and energetic and reckless. I'm overly optimistic and I don't think about the consequences of anything I do. I just roll with it and my judgement is sorely impaired. Bad things sound like a great idea and if anyone chastises me or tries to tell me I shouldn't do something, I get mad. My attention span is limited and I get chatty and sometimes I talk so much people can't keep up with what I'm saying."

"Damn," I whisper. I never knew. I really wish I had. "Then… what's it like when you're low?"

He smiles hazily. "I'm pessimistic. All I do is lie in bed, but I don't necessarily sleep. I just… try not to think. It never works, though. I don't eat. I don't really move. I have a lot of guilt on my good days and when I feel like shit it just gets worse. I want to kill myself… but I can't."

I don't like the sound of that. All I muster up is, "Oh."

"Yeah," he says before deciding to change the subject. "Stan gets back tomorrow. I bet you're excited," he says in a pointed tone.

"Why are you saying it like that?" I ask.

"You're probably secretly hoping Wendy will dump his ass again," Kenny accuses me, "and when he's all sad and vulnerable he'll come back to you. That's what you do, huh? You go for the most damaged guy you know. You have a type and that type is _high maintenance_. That's why I'm Stan's substitute."

I try not to take anything he's saying to heart. He's probably still pissed off at me for the pity-date idea. I won't tell Kenny that he was the one who started this. Instead, I just say, "All right."

He lets out a loud, long sighs. "You're supposed to tell me off now, Kyle. Tell me to stop being such a fucking bitch. I don't want you to tip toe around me now that you know I'm a nutter. You were the only person who _didn't_ tip toe around me after Craig died."

"I'm sorry," I say genuinely.

"For the record, I didn't mean what I said about you hoping Stan would get dumped," he adds, "but… you do have a type."

"I know," I tell him. "It's okay… You know, you shouldn't call yourself names and shit."

He shrugs. He pulls out another cigarette and lights it, taking a long drag. "I don't really know what the next step is supposed to be. I got closure… what now?"

"Don't rush it," I say. "It's okay to grieve."

"It's been almost three months."

"That isn't long," I remind him. "There isn't a right or wrong amount of time. You just have to do things at your own pace and when you're ready, you move forward."

"How?" he wonders aloud.

"Anything could happen," I say and he wrinkles his nose. "How do you fall out of love with someone you still have to see?" I ask suddenly, knowing he has that experience. I'm worried. Similar to Kenny's feelings for Craig, my love for Stan will never go away… but maybe it can change. I want to love him like a friend.

"I don't have any good advice to give you," he says with an apologetic smile. "Like I said, I was on a constant rebound. I fucked until I felt numb and then I'd start over."

"What do you feel for me now?" He said he liked me, though I'm not sure how.

"I like you… romantically," he says slowly and thoughtfully. "I'm sexually attracted to you."

"I feel like I could love you," I tell him. "Maybe that's a stupid thing to say… but…" I trail off, shrugging.

He offers me a smile. "It's nice to hear."

"Would it be so bad if you let me take you out?" I ask.

"Isn't it too early? For the both of us, it seems too early."

I shrug. "Who's to say? I think it's worth a shot."

He drags his front teeth over his bottom lip, making a long humming sound as he muses. "Ask me two days from now," he says. "If you feel the same way as you do now, then I'll go out with you."

And I know exactly why he's requesting this. It's because of Stan. He wants to know if I'll just go crawling back to Stan when he returns. In all honesty, I want to know that as well. So, I say, "Deal."

After Kenny finishes his next cigarette, he goes inside and we part ways. I get in my car and drive home.

* * *

Ike is in the living room watching some David Suzuki documentary. How exciting. "Hey," he greets without bothering to look my way.

"Hey," I echo, sitting next to him.

"How's Kenny?" he pries immediately. "I always hear you guys shouting lately."

"I think he was having an episode," I say.

"Oh," is all Ike responds with. Clearly he isn't surprised.

"You knew?" I can't help but ask. "I only just found out…"

"I had a feeling," he says. "I didn't want to assume anything, but I'm not shocked. So, what are you doing with him? Because you shouldn't play around with him."

"I'm not," I insist. But he's right. Kenny deserves someone stable and someone who will be able to help ease his pain – not make it worse. "I don't know how to help him."

"Ask," Ike says simply. "That's all you have to do, Kyle. Just ask him what you can do when he's in his ups and downs. Also, the last thing you want to do is treat him any different now that you know."

"Yeah," I murmur. I won't make that mistake twice.

* * *

The following day, Stan comes back. I meet Kenny and Cartman at the airport and we wait. Soon, we see Stan and Wendy emerge from a crowd. They look even more tanned than they are naturally.

"You guys look like a couple of fuckin' brownies," Cartman comments.

Wendy gives him a tight smile before greeting us. We all exchange hugs and once the formalities are finished, we all pile into my car. I help them put their luggage in my trunk and we go for lunch. The entire time, they talk about their trip. They seem like they're doing all right and getting along. It's a good thing. Every so often, Kenny shoots me a knowing look.

"So, you guys had fun?" Cartman asks.

"It was _amazing_," Stan gushes, smiling at his girlfriend. She smiles back and they share a lovey-dovey look. I try not to stare. I'm still trying to figure out how I feel.

Love? Yes. Of course.

But it's been two months.

Am I still in love?

Am I still possessive?

Do I want him?

Do I want to fuck him?

No. I don't think so. I need to figure out what I want and I need to do it sometime soon. It's not fair to keep Kenny on a string, but I think I'm ready to take a step in his direction. I'll tell him after, when we're alone.

For now, I smile and enjoy the rest of the day.

* * *

Kenny and me don't get a minute alone until night time. It's almost midnight when everyone parts ways. We ended the night off at the pond and at one point Kenny took out a flask. He had a little too much to drink. Fortunately, he's a pretty peppy drunk tonight.

I drive everyone home and when it's me and Kenny alone in the car I decide to talk. "Stay at my place tonight," I request. "I have something I want to talk about with you tomorrow."

"Why not now?" he asks.

"I want to say it when you're sober," I tell him simply.

"Fair enough," he sing-songs. He stares out the window. I watch him from the corner of my eye are he breathes on the window and draws a heart in the condensation. "I like you, Kyle," he says offhandedly. "I really like you."

"Yeah?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says. "You're handsome, strong and really nice to me. You do stupid things sometimes, but I guess that's understandable. We all do. I do stupid things a lot… and I think I'll always be insecure over the fact that you slept with Stan. So, I'm sorry in advanced."

"It's fine," I promise him. "I'm sorry, too," I add, though I'm not even sure why I'm apologizing. Maybe it's just got being an idiot in general. I seem to be pretty damn good at that lately.

"What do you like about me?" he pries. He's still staring out the window and away from me, almost as if he's trying to distance himself from the things he's saying. Or maybe he's just worried to find out.

"Everything," I start. "I like everything from the way you look to the way you act and the way you see the world. You've got a kind heart. I've always admired that. You've been through a lot and it's shaped you, but not negatively. You still treat people with respect even though you've been hurt so many times and I think that's incredibly strong of you."

"Oh, wow," he murmurs. He turns and stares at me. I give him a brief glance, smiling and staring ahead at the road. "That's really beautiful, Kyle."

The conversation switches to a less serious topic afterwards. I let Kenny rant about work, about the little things in life. Soon, we're at my house. I park and we move inside. On our way upstairs, Kenny is still chattering. I decide to put a movie on my laptop. I let him choose. He picks _The Road to El Dorado_. We sit up against my pillow with our shoulders touching as we watch it.

Towards the end of the night, Kenny starts sobering. I make sure he drinks a lot of water so he won't get a headache. When we sleep, it's comfortable and we're close. Unlike my hook ups with Stan, I know in the morning Kenny won't be gone.

* * *

Morning comes fast and there is dim light streaming into the room from behind my curtains.

"How do you feel?" I ask when Kenny's eyes flutter open.

"All right," he says. "Thanks for keepin' me hydrated."

"Sure," I respond.

In the kitchen, we make eggs and he says, "You know, I haven't written in a while. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing."

"I don't think it's a bad thing," I offer, knowing full well what he was writing about.

"I suppose not," he agrees. "No more sad stuff to write down. I guess I got all the feelings out."

I think writing is good for Kenny. He can be self-destructive. He isn't one to stifle himself in the usual sense of the word, but he definitely needs a healthier way of letting out his emotions. I think writing is definitely a healthy way to let out his emotions. "You shouldn't just write when you're sad. Write when you're happy, too. Draw, too. You used to love it."

"Happy," he repeats, making a face. "Are _you_ happy?"

I nod. "Yeah, I guess I am."

After we eat, I put the dishes in the sink and sit back down at the table. I decide that now is probably a good time to tell Kenny what I've been feeling and thinking.

"So," I start.

"So," he repeats with a smile. He probably already knows what I'm going to say.

"Uh, so I think my feelings for Stan have changed," I say bluntly. "So have my feelings for you." I wish I could choose my words more eloquently, but I can't.

"I know," Kenny whispers. "I saw it. It was in the way you looked at him. There was something absent… something missing. It was new. I was surprised by how relieved I felt when I realized you no longer were in love with him."

"So, does this mean…?" I trail off.

"Yes…" he decides before questioning, "Yes?"

"Yes," I respond with a laugh.

"Wow," Kenny says somewhat dreamily. "I never thought this would happen. Me and you…"

"I want to take care of you," I say.

He smiles hazily. "That's really nice, Kyle," he says sincerely.

"What helps?" I ask. "When you're, uh, experiencing mania… what should I do?"

Kenny smiles again – probably at my lame effort. "Craig used to just hold me really tightly to the point where I wouldn't be able to move. It kind of forced me to pause and it made me feel better. He'd let me cry and scream and he never got angry when I said awful things to him and about him… because he understood I didn't mean it. He was always so calm. I think that helped. The worst thing would have been for him to start freaking out, too. Then I think I would have just gone even crazier."

I nod, processing it all. "What about when you're, uh, feeling…" I trail off, not sure how to word it without being offensive.

"Depressed?" Kenny ventures with a laugh. "It's the same, I suppose… but I don't have to be held as tightly. It's just nice to have someone close by, even though I might not act like it at the time. The worst thing for me when I'm at my lowest is being alone. I could kill myself… but I guess it doesn't truly matter. I'd come back brand new."

"Still," I reason. "Save yourself some pain."

He nods lazily. "I want to go somewhere later," he starts offhandedly. "I think it's time I say goodbye to someone. Will you come?"

"Sure," I say, giving him a small smile. I don't need to ask where it is he wants to go or who it is he wants to say goodbye to. I already know.

He puts his elbow on the table and rests his chin in his hand. "So, Kyle. You are going to take care of me?"

"Yeah," I say surely.

"I'll take care of you, then," Kenny decides. "I'll try not to fuck up."

"Me, too," I agree.

And I guess this is it. This is how it goes – the final step of the healing process is a new beginning. We're starting over and we're doing it with each other.


	6. Epilogue

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey  
Lyrics to "Anywhere Is" © Enya**

**And we're done~ Y'all go check out my other fic if you like Craig torture and McTucker ;)**

* * *

_It's either this or that way  
It's one way or the other  
It should be one direction  
It could be on reflection  
The turn I have just taken  
The turn that I was making  
I might be just beginning  
I might be near the end_

Summer is gone and the snow is back. I felt myself welcome the cold and the familiarity that came along with it.

Stan and Wendy are off to university, along with Cartman and most of the other teenagers. Believe it or not, I forewent school. I might go in the future, but right now I'm not quite ready. I'm still too indecisive. I don't know what I want to do with my life, but for now I'm fine with the way things are. I work my mundane job at the book store, but I don't mind. It's nice talking to customers. It isn't a loud job. I think the silence is something I find comforting. Apart from all that, I get to see Kenny most days.

Sometimes I'll get home from work and find him in my bed. He'll grin and tell me my mom let him in. Now is no different.

"Hey," I greet, moving towards my bed.

"Hey," he echoes.

Everyone knows we're an item. People were surprised – my parents are at the top of this list. I think they had a feeling I was fawning over Stan. For a long time, I was… but not anymore. I think Kenny and I have both moved on. Kenny said goodbye to Craig and he finally agreed to go to therapy for his mood swings. They forced him on pills and they don't really take, but he stopped protesting. I've noticed a small difference, not that I really mind either way. I just want things to be easier for his sake. He says the pills take a few weeks to start working and by the time he feels it he'll die and have to start over. It's frustrating for him, but apart from that, he says psychotherapy helps.

"I had a dirty dream about you last night," Kenny says.

"Oh?" My interest is peaked.

"Yes," he smiles lewdly. "Why don't you come over here and make it a reality?"

And I don't fuckin' hesitate.

* * *

Kenny started writing again. Maybe drawing will follow. He said it's because he's happy and he took my advice. I guess he writes when he feels. Sometimes he lets me read what he writes. It's often about me – about us. I'll find myself smiling with each word.

The following morning I wake up first. I dig around in his bag and pull out the familiar coiled scribbler, opening it. I flip to the most recent page and begin to read –

_It doesn't hurt as much anymore. I've seen enough tragic movies to understand that that's a normal part of the grieving process: acceptance. Craig's sweater is now sitting in the back of my closet. I won't be bringing it out any time soon. _

_I don't have to forget him, do I? I only need to move on… and I am. I can say Craig's name without wanting to cry. I can say his name without feeling an ache in my chest. I don't know if I grieved for too long or too little. My doctor said everyone is different and it's important to do things at the pace that's best for you. I have. I don't think I'll ever be okay because I'm so fucked up in general, but I'm doing better than I was at the start of summer. _

_I haven't fucked up with Kyle yet, but I know that'll probably happen someday. I already know how it will go. I'll yet again say something awful, but it'll be different now because our relationship has changed. Still, he'll be nice about it and he'll forgive me for it, but I'll still feel bad. He'll say the L word. I'll say it back. _

_Love. What a strange phenomenon. It really does happen more than once – over and over again. It always ends the same way until you meet Mr. Right. I'd like to think I have, but if Kyle ever wants to go, I won't force him to stay. I'll let him go gently. If my relationship with Craig has taught me anything it's how to let go. _

I pause as I hear a soft moan. Beside me, Kenny stirs, opening his eyes and staring at me. "Whatcha doing?" he asks coyly with morning affection.

"Reading," I answer.

_Kyle had his hand in mine – palm against palm. It feels right. I never thought I'd get back here again, but here I am. Maybe life isn't supposed to be fair. Maybe it's supposed to just suck in general. If that's true, I guess I don't mind. The good parts – however few they may be – make it worth living. I wonder if Kyle would agree._

"I agree," I tell him.

He smiles lazily, sitting up. "I thought you would."

"I love you," I say, kissing his temple.

"I love you, too," he returns, still smiling.

Whether it was by choice or whether we were meant to be… I'm glad it was Kenny. I'm glad it _is_ Kenny.

Ever since me and Kenny made things official time has been going by really fast and I look forward to every day. It's like that dumb ass Randy Marsh always used to say to us when we were kids: _"Enjoy your youth while you can because time sure flies when you're young and jackin' it."_ I guess this must mean life is good.

**The end.**


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